


I Remain At Your Side

by Lourdes23



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Abduction, Anal Fingering, Angst, Boromir'd, Character Death, Consensual Sex, Depression, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Light Bondage, Oral Sex, Pregnancy, Religious Conflict, Spoilers, Violence, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-30 14:32:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 84,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3940375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lourdes23/pseuds/Lourdes23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Kirkwall fell so did its Champion.  Changed by betrayal, hunted and outcast, Hawke must find the strength to rise up once more in defense of a world gone mad.  Yet humans can only withstand so much before desperation drives them beyond reason.  When she's at her breaking point, and the weight of her duties seems too much to bear, who will stand with her and share the burden?</p><p>Who will champion the Champion?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. At the End of Everything

**Author's Note:**

> I've been kicking around an idea for a DA2 fic for quite some time, but when Inquisition came out I scrapped the entire story I had started and began this rewrite. I was planning to wait until I wrote the whole thing before posting it, because my last story is still sitting unfinished, but I'm just too excited about this one. I hope that you enjoy it!

ACT ONE: AT THE END OF EVERYTHING

 

It had risen up within her like a great wave from the sea which threatened to drown her in its power, this despair, and it held to her as the purple haze in the sky above her began to fade to blackness, smeared in smoke and firelight which rose from the city below. Kirkwall burned, and with it so did the last of what innocence she had allowed herself the illusion of possessing. 

Because she had known. From the moment that strange request had left his lips, Hawke had known that Anders' intent was anything but what he claimed it to be. And still she had helped him. She had told herself that she _had_ to help. She was obligated to do anything and everything in her power to help him, to save him, as she had failed to save those so dear to her. And so she had ignored that whisper deep within her soul, telling her that she should not be following him so blindly; not when his temperament had taken such a strange turn so recently. Not when his former melancholy tendencies had shifted to fatalistic. Not when he now kept secrets from her, as he had never before. 

And now where the Chantry had once stood, only a hole in the city remained. Not even ash... not even rubble. 

Gone. 

She wanted to lash out at her lover; to demand to know why he had used her for such cruelty. She wanted to strike out at him physically, to make him hurt as deeply as she did - right down to her soul which was screaming for the loss of those innocents who had sought refuge in the Chantry as so many did in times of need or fear. Those families, those children, those poor people who had turned to the Maker for protection when the fighting had first started, and who died as a result. People she had been fighting for nearly a decade to protect; to unite. Now gone, with not even bodies to commit to the flame. 

They had died because of him. Because of _them_. 

Without knowing how or when it precisely happened, Hawke realized that during Anders' self-righteous rant she had drawn her belt knife. The act had not gone unnoticed by her companions, either. A few murmurs arose at her back, low, but not so low that she could not hear their opinions on what the apostate's fate should be. Yet she responded to none of them, training her eyes on a face that had so often liquified her insides with just a smile; a face that was so achingly familiar and beloved to her, yet now harbored a stranger beneath, she felt.

"I trusted you," she breathed. "I loved you. I would have _died_ for you. But this?" She gestured towards the emptiness where not even an hour before there had been the beating heart of the city. "There is no justice in slaughtering innocent people, Anders. Not for any reason. These were the actions of a monster. _You_ are a monster; and I helped you do this.

“Damn your soul along with mine,” she hissed to the man standing before her-

-and tossed the knife at his feet.

A voice rose from the small gathering beside her, but with a withering glare which displayed all of the rage and pain and betrayal roiling within her, she silenced Sebastian's protests. Her gaze then slid to Fenris, waiting for him to speak out as their archer had, only to find him watching her intently, yet utterly silent; expressionless beyond the fierce, ever-present spark behind his eyes. Aveline's mouth opened and then closed again, having thought better of providing input, clearly.

Without inspecting the others, Hawke returned her focus to the mage before her as her mind continued to struggle to come to terms with this tragedy. This could have been prevented. So many lives need not have been lost tonight. If she hadn't coddled him so; if she had stood up to him and demanded to know what it was he was hiding from her. But no, she had given in, foolishly believing that in granting him blind devotion it would somehow right the wrongs within his heart. And from that first kiss they had shared in Anders' clinic to the the events of just a few moments ago, she could see now that she’d made a spectacular mess of it all. Her fist rose momentarily to clutch at her short black locks before dropping back to her side; her despair winning out over her anger.

“I went into this with you willingly,” she said at last, acknowledging no one but the man who stood before her; the man who had just last night shared her bed, “I tied myself to you in this. If your blood must be spilled, it should be mixed with mine, because I knew something was wrong and still I did nothing.” With the back of her hand she scrubbed away the tears she had only just noticed on her cheeks. “I was a convenience for you, and now you will be the same for me. You’ll accompany us into the coming battles. You’ll fight like you’re still human enough to want to help us. You’ll fight like you give a damn if these people live or die,” she waved a hand to her friends. “You owe it to them. _We_ owe it to them.”

For the first time since the explosion true anguish crossed overAnders' features. Yet Hawke quickly found his regret was ill-placed.“Maker help me," he groaned,"I was so certain that breaking your heart would kill me. How I wish now it had.” Those words would have moved her previously, perhaps even enough to forgive him, if his crime had not intentionally claimed innocent lives.

But now her heart was shattered by a betrayal that no apology could undo.

“And that’s exactly why you live, Anders." She announced, trying desperately to find that confidence that had been coming to her with less and less ease over the past few years."The Maker won’t help you anymore than he’ll help me.” And without another word to her companions or the man who had, in her eyes, stripped away the last of his humanity this night, Hawke strode briskly from the group towards the waiting battle.

 

XXXX

 

By the time the coming daybreak had first began to color the skies with shades of purple and the deepest blues, she was well beyond view of the city; the countryside quiet and restful, as though nothing terrible ever happened and life was continuing as normal for all. 

The Grand Cleric was dead, at the hands of her former lover; the Knight Commander and the First Enchanter now corpses in the streets as well, by Hawke's own hand. Those who had been charged with guiding and protecting Kirkwall had destroyed each other, Hawke included, and in her eyes the city was all the better for it. And so she fled, knowing that to stay would be suicide, for none who would come to restore order would be blind to her part in that war. 

Varric had promised to lead any pursuers to believe she had fled north into the safety of the mountains she knew so well, if necessary, rather than follow the open expanse between the Vimmark Mountains and the sea, which would allow her to travel more quickly, but at greater risk out in the open. With luck she could reach Ostwick before news of Kirkwall spread, and from there secure passage to Ferelden. 

A short distance behind her Anders stilled matched her tiresome pace in silence, though she had neither ordered or asked for him to join her. Hawke doubted very much that he even knew why he followed, but she was so weary emotionally that she could not even bare to turn and face him. So she plodded on, listening to the lonely set of footsteps at her back. It was a strange to travel in such small numbers, for as her companions had fled to avoid retaliation after the fighting, some bidding bittersweet farewells to those they had grown to close to over the years, only Anders had shadowed her as she had stolen into the night and away from the city. 

Or so she had thought. 

Her assumption of secrecy however was put to rest abruptly when shadow erupted into motion and whorls of blue light, overpowering the mage at her back and knocking his staff to the ground before she had opportunity to draw her blades. 

Over Anders' shoulder Fenris' eyes were alight with the flaring brilliance of his lyrium etchings; the pointed tips of a gauntlet wrapping around the apostate's neck, the fingers splayed on his other hand, which was nearly defined solely by the ethereal glow that surrounded it. Hawke knew the elf's intent. She had witnessed this before; that terrible rage that came just before Fenris plunged his hand through the chest of his quarry. 

"Do not tell me to spare him, Hawke," he called to her in warning, "his crimes are beyond forgiveness." 

Hawke allowed her hands to slip from the pommels at her shoulders, the gesture one of absolute resignation. "I know." She said softly, earning a brief glance from eyes that were near to mad with rage. "If you choose to kill him I won't stop you. I only ask that when he is dead you sentence me to the same end." 

A sound of disgust was spat from between bared teeth, "Do not tell me you still love the abomination after what he has done!" 

"You misunderstand," Hawke said quietly, "I meant what I said when I told him he had damned us both. I too played a part in the destruction of the Chantry. He asked for my aid and I gave it." Green eyes slitted with rage instantly widened impossibly beyond the feathers of Anders' robes and for a moment Hawke was quite convinced that Fenris had forgotten the mage in his grasp until the man spoke. 

"No! She didn't know what she was agreeing to!" Anders bleated, choking slightly at the grip upon his throat. "I told her it was for a spell. A spell to separate Justice from me. She had no idea what I truly intended." 

"I knew something was wrong," Hawke all but whispered. "The day he asked for a distraction in the Chantry I knew that whatever he was hiding from me should have had me worried. I just didn't make the connection." Looking back now, however, it was painfully clear to her, and that present clarity gave her all the more reason to hold herself equally accountable for the events of last night. 

 _Maker, I should have noticed it sooner._  

"I should never have involved you." Anders moaned, turning his head as far as Fenris' grip would allow in an attempt to look at her. "It was selfish of me to want you so close. There were others in the resistance who would have knowingly helped, but I-" 

"Silence!" Fenris roared, shaking Anders violently with the grip he still held on the mage's throat, clearly cutting off the mage's air supply for a moment judging by the choking noises he emitted. "Tell me you did not know it would come to this, Hawke." The elf's voice was low, almost as though he were coaxing the answer he desired from her. Yet that could not be possible, she knew. Fenris never tried to find a reason to excuse anyone's actions, after all. They were guilty or they were not - there were no compromises. 

"Not this, no," she sighed, unwilling to try to spare herself from whatever retribution she may owe. "But did I suspect he was hiding something important from me? Yes." 

"But not this." Fenris waved his free arm back towards the direction of Kirkwall. "Not such depravity." It was bitten and hard, but in his voice she could hear his true request clearly enough now. 

He was asking her for a reason to not have to hold her accountable. 

Had she been in a more stable frame of mind, Hawke knew she would have found this astonishing; to be granted a pardon by this man was not something that she had ever witnessed. Not even his sister had received such treatment, and only lived today because Hawke had all but pleaded for her life. This turn of events should have staggered her, yet at present she could see no further than her own grief and self-hatred. 

"No. No, not this. If... if I had suspected... I would have tried to stop him... reasoned with him..." 

"Reason." The warrior scoffed, his icy gaze returning to the apostate in his grasp. "Monsters do not see reason, Hawke. They know only their perverse need to destroy." 

"That may be," she agreed, "but he was not a monster to me then. He was someone I loved." 

"And now?" 

Hawke could not respond. The memory of the man Anders had been, the man she had loved, was still fresh in her mind. The hope that his heart would heal and she would have him back was not even a full day dead within her. To say the words aloud... to bring herself to renounce what she had only yesterday treasured so dearly... 

Whatever expression she wore was seemingly enough for Fenris, for the elf violently shoved Anders, coughing ragged gasps, to the ground. 

"Though I would like nothing more than to leave this abomination a rotting corpse where he lies," Her warrior companion spoke firmly, yet without the rage he had held to just moments before, "I know now that his death is not mine to decide. It must be yours, if not of his own doing. 

"But I will not allow him to manipulate you further." With almost predatory resolve, Fenris circled the prone mage to stand before Hawke. "I am coming with you." 

Miserably Hawke shook her head. "I will be hunted for my part in Kirkwall's fall and the mage's rebellion. I cannot ask you to come with me." 

"I do not recall my decision to join you coming as a response to your request." Fenris growled and she recognized his statement for what it was: a challenge for her to argue against his decision. For a moment she simply stared into green eyes that somehow always managed to smolder, if not outright burn, and at this moment they were positively ablaze. Finally, she relented. 

"All right. I can't order you to act against your will. But I couldn't bear being responsible for the death of another person I care for. Please Fenris, please don't place yourself in danger for me." 

The glower before her cooled slightly, if it did not dissipate entirely. "I have survived being hunted by far worse, I assure you." Fenris rumbled smoothly. "You need not fear for me." 

 

XXXX

 

_Two years later..._

Travel worn and hungry, Hawke wrapped her woolen cloak tightly around herself as she eyed the village warily. Though they had not had an encounter with Templars or Chantry agents in months it still seemed like such a risk to venture into populated places where she could be recognized, and she scolded herself again for being a paranoid fool. She was here for a reason, she reminded herself. True, the attention on her had all but died off for months a while ago, only to be refueled with a vengeance for reasons that had been previously unknown to her, but that did not mean that every corner of Thedas held danger for her.

"We have to eat," she sighed, more to herself than the men at her back, "and it would bee nice to sleep in a real bed again."

 _And this is the village from the last message._ She decided again to withhold that information at the moment. While she readily shared information with one of her companions, the other was no longer party to her plans.

"The settlement is small," Fenris observed blandly, "we'll be lucky if we are able to purchase enough supplies to see us to the next town. Still, a bed would be a welcome change."

"Right then." Hawke reached beneath her cloak to tuck her daggers away, pulling her coin pouch from her hip and handing it over to Fenris. "Remember your aliases. You purchase our supplies. I'll check the chanter's board. There has to be some menial chores that can earn us a few silvers." The idea of checking the boards set her stomach into a roiling fit, but at least in smaller towns it would be easier to escape if they were identified. And it also gave her the opportunity to break away long enough to retrieve her next message. "We'll meet up tonight at the inn, just there." She pointed to the second largest building, its swinging sign boasting the image of a man asleep in his pub chair with his feet propped upon the table.

The look upon Anders' face spoke his opinion clearly enough. For the first few months his expressions of distress or disapproval had twisted her heart each time she had laid eyes upon him, which in turn plucked at Fenris' temper until he was growling Tevinter obscenities and refusing to meet her eyes. She had been trying valiantly to not care, to not _feel_ whenever Anders turned that liquid amber gaze upon her, yet it was so difficult to simply cast aside years of sharing one heart with a man... even if that man had turned out to be a monster.

Now, however, Hawke found it easier to slide her gaze over Anders, as though he were not standing before her at all, and stride briskly away from her companions towards the chantry.

 

XXXX

 

Sunset had come and gone hours passed when Hawke at last entered the overly-warm common room of the village's combined pub and inn. After learning from the innkeeper that Fenris had already rented the last two empty rooms for the evening, and purchasing a bowl of stew to take back to her room, Hawke ascended the stairs to her accommodations, passing three closed doors as instructed before reaching the final and only open door on the landing. Inside her elven companion sat at the round table before the glowing fireplace, four bottles of wine lined up before him.

"Forgive me," he murmured, a fifth bottle of wine already opened and at his lips, "the company in my quarters is... less than ideal."

Hawke nodded her understanding and took the seat beside his, accepting the bottle he proffered. "Did you eat?" She asked, suddenly a bit embarrassed she has not thought to bring more than just one bowl.

"I did. Downstairs." He grimaced. "Be wary. It is still disagreeing with me."

"My, but don't we have a delicate palate?" Hawke grinned slightly, earning a devilishly quirked smile and a single chortle from her friend in response.

In the years since Kirkwall, Hawke still found herself plagued by nightmares of nameless faces and those she had loved and lost, crying out to her to save them. So many of these nights found her waking to the sounds of her own sobs, and a precious others few found her waking to crystalline green eyes and hands shaking her soundly as Fenris roused her from her dreams.

Even more rare than the nights her friend rescued her from her inner demons, there were nights such as this when she was able to find the small joys in life again. Nights where she remembered how to tease, how to smile, and occasionally even how to laugh. It was surprising to her that these moments were now only shared with the most somber member of her entourage, and yet she treasured each one of them. For they meant that he still counted her a friend, and not simply someone he could not trust to be left unguarded, as she often worried he would grow to see her.

Still brandishing her impish grin, Hawke waggled her fingers at her friend, palm up, and Fenris - not needing her mind spoken - reached to his belt to retrieve her coin purse, which she promptly refilled with the contents of her belt pouch.

"It's not much," she relayed, "but it will keep us in potions long enough to reach our next destination. Which reminds me," Hawke pushed her fingers back into her belt pouch and pulled free a tightly rolled piece of parchment. Fenris' brow arched at the site.

"Just how many liaisons can that man have?" He murmured, lifting the wine bottle to his lips again.

"He's always been a popular one, hasn't he?" Her jibe at their friend came with a small shrug and a smile as she unrolled the parchment she had picked up from her appointed contact to find Varric's careful print filling the page. Laying the paper flat on the table and flicking idle locks of short ebony hair from her eyes, Hawke began her study of the letter, Fenris idly pulling from the wine bottle as he watched.

The dwarf was still adept at raising her spirits, even from so many leagues away, she mused. His message started off friendly enough, as always, with talks about his newest book, the Seeker woman he had been reluctantly traveling with, another woman from the Marches they'd named Inquisitor - a title she'd heard more and more frequently of late, and his general distaste for being uprooted from his room at the Hanged Man.

Yet where his prior missives would normally continue into a coded message identifying her next safe-haven, Hawke's eyes now followed a surprising turn.

_'Listen pal, I know you've had damned good reason to disappear, but I'm afraid that the world needs the Champion of Kirkwall again. Come to Skyhold. It's Corypheus. He's back, Hawke.'_

It couldn't be possible, she knew. They had killed that creature years ago. Varric and Fenris had been with her in that very battle, along with Anders, naturally.

Yet prone as he was to exaggerations and even lies, Varric had his limits. Lying about _that_ was beyond even her favorite story teller's gall.

With hands far steadier than they should have been, Hawke set the parchment on the table, raising clear blue eyes to Fenris, who stilled instantly, attuned to his companion's sudden change in humor, his wine bottle all but forgotten in his grasp.

"Corypheus has returned." She announced. "I'm going to the Inquisition's stronghold. If you come, I can't promise we won't be captured for my role in the Kirkwall chantry's destruction, or worse."

With deliberate, if not exaggerated care, Fenris placed his bottle on the table before turning a hardened expression upon her. "Are you asking me to part with you here?"

"No. I know where I stand on that account. I'm simply giving you warning, and leaving the choice up to you." Hawke clarified. "If it helps ease your mind, Anders will not be traveling with me after tonight. I won't risk his instability in another political arena. And I won't allow him the opportunity to influence such a large gathering of mages. The Inquisition has joined forces with the mages, if you recall."

Fenris nodded, yet his eyes flicked up to hers quickly, that ever present spark flaring, his next question clearly defining his current priorities. "Will you kill him?"

Hawke felt her own expression soften with her resolve. "You know I can't." Though she was fairly certain that she had separated her heart from the man who had years ago held a piece of her soul, she could not remove herself from their shared sin. Not even now, so long after the devastation had been wrought.

Dark brows that contrasted dramatically with his pale hair furrowed as the man scowled. "You will simply let him walk free then?"

"There are no more templars to turn him over to." Hawke mused. "At least not a large enough number which can be trusted. Even if there were, he is more than capable of defeating them and escaping. No. His fate is his own, just as my fate is mine to control. But if he harms another person, as Anders or as Justice, I _will_ hunt him down and kill him. That much I can promise."

For what seemed to Hawke to be an eternity, Fenris sat before her, silently appraising her. It was unsettling; the elf was not known for holding his tongue.

"I can ask no more of you." He murmured at last. "Now, when do we leave for Skyhold?"

 

XXXX

 

In spite of the death of their romance, and the distance she had tried to place between her own heart and his so many months ago, Hawke still found it difficult taking that final step towards separating herself from Anders permanently. He had been such a constant in her life for so many years that to sever him from her life felt like cutting away another piece of her own identity. They had loved one another, depended upon and trusted in each other without question; only someone completely devoid of emotion could simply cast that aside without a second thought.

Yet Hawke knew perfectly well that taking Anders into the Inquisition's headquarters, which now housed refugee mages from all over Thedas, was like taking a lit torch into a powder keg store room. He could not be allowed to spread his fanatical beliefs throughout their ranks. She had already witnessed the effects of that once in her life.

Nothing but death waited down that path.

And so, with a brief knock at his door Hawke entered without waiting for permission. She went alone, informing Fenris that this was something she had to do without him - that this had to be her doing and her decision completely.

Once aware of who had entered his room, Anders stood from his bed, the contents of his pack strewn out carefully upon the blankets as he performed his nightly routine of assessing his supplies. "Tomorrow I leave this village at dawn with Fenris." Hawke announced, steeling herself against the pang of emotion that tried to bubble from the depths of her stomach. "You will no longer be traveling with us."

For his part, Anders neither argued or pleaded, despite the sadness that marred his features upon hearing her decision. He must have known for some time that this day was inevitable, she felt.

"What will you do?" He asked instead. Hawke's eyes narrowed purposefully.

"That is not your concern." She was not utterly blind. She could see clearly enough that he still harbored feelings for her, despite the rift that had been growing between them these past two years. If he knew her intent he would try to find a way to stay with her.

"I will make you one promise before I leave," she added, attempting to impart a resolve she had once been able to adapt so easily. "If I discover at any time that you have rejoined the war; that you are harming people or taking lives again, no matter the reason, I will find you and finish what I did not that final night in Kirkwall. And know that I will be listening for that news. Closely."

That threat, spoken aloud and coupled with the wide-eyed surprise on her former lover's face, was enough to leach emotion from her control, and Hawke spun on her heal, marching from his room before the tear could reach her cheek.

The last tear she would ever shed for Anders, she vowed.

 

XXXXXXXX


	2. Old Friends and Old Enemies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When old dangers return anew, Hawke knows she must act... no matter how much she may wish to the contrary. With the support of those she has not lost, perhaps she will find the will again.

##  ACT TWO: OLD FRIENDS AND OLD ENEMIES

 

She had forgotten how much she loved snow, she mused to herself as her boots crunched over rock and ice alike. Kirkwall had born a near constant tepid climate, and snow had been a novelty Hawke had not experienced in close to a decade. The feel of cold flakes melting upon her cheeks and catching in her lashes reminded her of simpler times, and she allowed herself to be swallowed in the high spirits she so infrequently felt.

A muttered curse at her back caught her attention not for the first time that day, and Hawke found herself stifling another laugh at Fenris' expense; his booted feet finding poor traction on the winter terrain. At Hawke's insistence they had purchased for him a pair of leather boots and winter apparel for the trek through the mountain passes, though Fenris had argued that it would impair his fighting abilities.

"I would prefer the frostbite at this rate," he groused, meeting her expression with a scowl and his arms stretched out like the wings of a bird attempting flight. Hawke failed to hold back a snicker at the sight this time, to which Fenris responded to only with a disgusted grunt. She did not know if he had been tolerating her amusement at his discomfort in an effort to raise her spirits, but his recent accommodations had taken her aback at first. After a few days, however, she at last became comfortable with outwardly expressing amusement at the spectacle he was making; though for his benefit she tried not to overtax his fragile patience.

"Liar." She countered, calling his bluff while returning her attention to the footing of the summit they were about to crest. "Your balance would be far worse without your toes. Besides, I think those boots make y-"

The words died upon her lips. For beyond the peak they had just scaled a truly breathtaking sight captured all conscious thought from her. Towering over cliffs and rolling snowbanks, a castle unlike any she had laid eyes upon before rose like a monarch upon its throne. From every peak and bulwark the standards of the Inquisition fluttered in the frozen air, and upon those walkways figures garbed in shining metal strode with obvious purpose, even at this distance.

This was the Inquisition. Their interests extended beyond political or religious gains. They were the peacekeepers, and the war-bringers. They punished the wicked and defended the just.

This was the Inquisition, and if the rumors were true, they held all accountable, regardless of rank, and answered to no one.

_ Maker, help us. _

  


XXXX

  


It was surprisingly easy to enter the fortress, Hawke found after having built up the possibility within her mind of having to lay siege to the gates to gain entry. The guards on duty had instead given her a cursory look over and then directed her to the training fields with the other recruits.

"Actually I was supposed to meet someone here." Hawke explained. "Varric Tethras. Do you know him?"

The man lifted a finger towards a raised entry beyond the courtyard, and with a nod of thanks Hawke made her way to the winding staircase that approached it.

Inside was a massive entryway, complete with a throne at the far end. Whoever this Inquisitor was, she was clearly not one to be taken lightly. Around the chamber nobility chatted, workmen busied themselves on  scaffolds and servants bustled about. There was a sense of purpose here that seemed-

"Well I'll be a nug's backside," a heart-wrenchingly familiar voice chimed from her right and Hawke's smile was instant, wide, and utterly sincere. "I knew you'd come, but to see you standing here..."

"It's good to see you too, Varric," Hawke replied and her friend shook his head.

"Enough of that shit," he growled, "come here!" Stocky arms circled her ribs and Hawke bent slightly to save them both the embarrassment of Varric burying his face into her breast, hugging him back in earnest.

"Broody!" The dwarf at last seemed to take note of the man standing at her back and with equal good cheer. "I'll be damned! I was sure Hawke would have come here alone."

"She wanted to," Fenris growled, casting a stern look at his female companion. "But Hawke has an inconvenient habit of allowing people to manipulate her. I for one will not stand for that any longer."

"Ah," Varric straightened and took a few steps closer to the elf, training his gaze upwards to meet the man's eyes, "so the Champion has a champion of her own?" Fenris turned, lifting his foot to check the sole of his boot as he often had inspected his bare feet, clearly intending not to respond.

Hawke shrugged, speaking in his place. "So it would seem." 

Varric grinned with some knowing only he was privy to for a moment before a recollection sparked obviously in his eyes; his expression darkening and his eyes darting behind her almost warily. "What did you do with Blondie?"

"Left him," Hawke explained, "in the village where we received your message."

"And you left him alive?"

"You know I did." She replied softly. Varric sighed, shaking his head slowly.

"All right then. I guess that answers that. Come on, there's someone I need you to meet."

"The Inquisitor?"

"Yeah," Varric confirmed, "and if it's okay with you, Fenris, I'll take over chaperone duties for this one. The Inquisitor's advisors are sort of... touchy... about how she is addressed."

"Meaning what exactly?" Fenris demanded, his posture tensing immediately.

"Meaning you tend to put people on the defensive pretty quickly, and these people are not really the type to waive off an insult." Varric crossed his arms over his wide chest, tilting his head in a posture Hawke recognized as his 'storyteller's stance'. Maker, she had missed him. "I mean it" the dwarf continued seriously, "some of them are downright scary. I already know how to talk to them. Trust me, I won't let Hawke get in any trouble here."

Fenris cast a quick, unreadable glance in Hawke's direction before returning his gaze to Varric. "You'd better not." He sneered, and strode from the room as though readying himself for war. For a moment Varric just stared after him, a faint smile on his lips.

"Yep. Just like old times." He muttered, and looked up to Hawke. "Shall we?"

  


XXXX

  


The battlements provided a spectacular view of snow-clad mountain peaks, clear blue skies that stretched on into eternity, and a stronghold in the midst of being restored to an architectural masterwork. Yet Hawke could truly appreciate none of the breathtaking sights before her. Instead she found herself mentally reliving how she could have missed Corypheus surviving their encounter, and in each recollection of that battle she came to the same conclusion: Corypheus  _ had _ died. There had been no mistake on that count. 

Still, Varric insisted that the thing the Inquisition had fought in Haven was the very same Darkspawn Hawke and her troupe had destroyed years ago. 

Boot heels on paver stones behind her caught her attention, and Hawke turned from her view of the courtyard to find her dwarven friend approaching, accompanied by a young woman with chestnut hair and a face too young for what Hawke had envisioned.

"Inquisitor," Varric announced, sweeping his arm in Hawke's direction, "meet Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall."

Hawke cringed slightly, feeling her stomach turn at the introduction, "though I don't use that title much anymore," she added quietly. 

"Hawke, meet the Inquisitor." Varric continued amicably. "I figured you might have some friendly advice about Corypheus. You and I did fight him after all." Where most people would have departed at that point and allowed the two women their privacy, Varric stepped back only a few paces and took a pull from his bottle, gazing off into the distance in what was clearly the only privacy he was going to afford them. It seemed he was taking his promise to Fenris seriously, Hawke thought, and the idea of actually requiring a chaperone compounded the feeling of failure that had never quite left her since she had fled Kirkwall.

The silence that followed was unsettling; the Inquisitor clearly waiting for Hawke to speak, while Hawke herself could not think where to start. Instead she began by flattering the stronghold and then describing her former home to a woman who quite clearly had more important matters to attend to. Yet the Inquisitor did not push her straight into business, instead exchanging small talk with Hawke as if she was still the Champion of Kirkwall; still someone to be respected and depended upon. Soon enough the conversation turned towards Corypheus as intended, and Hawke supplied the Inquisitor with all of the information and best guesses that she had, supported occasionally by Varric who had clearly decided that staying out of the conversation was impossible. When the subject of the Grey Warden's prior involvement came up Hawke at last felt able to contribute in some significant way.

"I've got a friend in the Grey Wardens," she admitted, glossing over how and why she had made such an acquaintance and feeling grateful when the Inquisitor did not press for details. "His name is Stroud." She recalled her last communication with her Warden friend with sudden trepidation. If Corypheus had truly returned it would explain Stroud's decision to slip into hiding.

To her regret the Inquisitor then brought up the question Hawke had hoped she would avoid, though with no accusation in her tone. "If you didn't know Corypheus was involved, what were you doing with the Grey Wardens?"

This was dangerous information, Hawke knew. Red lyrium was not something to be dabbled with, and the fewer people who knew of it the safer the world was. Yet Varric's supporting nod was enough to break her silence, and Hawke recounted for the Inquisitor how she had come to her association with the ancient order.

"Corypheus had templars with him at Haven," the brunette woman revealed, "they looked like they'd been exposed to the lyrium you describe."

It was a terrifying concept, Hawke thought, recalling inwardly that final battle against Meredith once she had been consumed by the red lyrium. If there were now more of these templars roaming Thedas it would take no less than an army to bring them to heel. Hawke hoped that the Inquisition's forces would be enough.

"I appreciate the help," the Inquisitor admitted once Hawke had spoken of the chance that Stroud might be able to provide some useful information.

"I'm doing this as much for myself as for you," she admitted, feeling that gnawing pit of guilt grow and swirl anew within her. "Corypheus is my responsibility. I thought I'd killed him before. This time I'll make sure of it."

The Inquisitor seemed buoyed by the promise of Hawke's assistance, yet the former Champion could not share in her confidence.

This was just proof of another failure. Another opportunity that Hawke had been given to do something good, and in the end had blundered with disastrous consequences. How many had died at the conclave? And how many more at Haven? In Hawke's eyes, each and every life lost was a direct result of her original failure to destroy Corypheus. 

Would her conscience allow it, she would have returned to her exile gladly and given over to her shame. But Varric had vouched for her to the Inquisitor. And if she was guessing correctly there would be more lives lost in this battle before it was over. She couldn't fail any of them. And she couldn't leave her mess to another. This had been her duty; her responsibility. She would see it through. 

If it killed her, she would see Corypheus dead.

  


XXXX

  


Word spread fairly quickly that the Champion of Kirkwall was onsite; ready to join in the battle against Corypheus, and Hawke felt herself wanting nothing more than to leave immediately. Servants were already bowing and scraping in her presence, murmuring 'Champion' and other awe-inspired honorifics as she passed. Nobles were now smiling at her widely and making a point of conversing with her in public; or on the other side of the coin, sneering at her and criticizing her quite vocally to their peers. Political plays that she wanted no part of. 

Thankfully the Inquisitor had offered Hawke the newly constructed guest accommodations in the hold's proper, which spared her from having to mingle with the general public within the inn. Varric had been assigned the task of acting as her escort within the hold, or rather Hawke suspected he had appointed himself the role, and treated the entire affair like Hawke was paying a visit to his new home, rather than preparations for the upcoming mission he had undoubtedly guessed she wished had never been necessary. He provided her with a tour and made a few introductions to those he deemed worthy before bringing his friends to the guest chambers. 

The space was clearly still in the process of being renovated, yet it was clean and had been decorated by someone who felt Hawke was a person worthy enough to receive the finest the Inquisition had to offer. At the far end of the room a large fabric and wrought iron screen separated the primary part of the chamber from a second bed and chest of drawers, which had clearly been brought up recently and decorated to match.

"They were going to reserve a spot for Fenris in the inn," Varric explained when Hawke peered at the unusual arrangements quizzically, "but I told them he'd probably end up sleeping in a chair up here if they tried. Our ambassador took the liberties of having the room set up to your... uh... liking." 

Hawke gave a small smile. "It's very nice."

"It's a lot of ass-kissing." Varric muttered. "They need your help and they know it. Look, Hawke, I know that coming here was not exactly easy for you." He frowned at her attempt to shrug off his concern. "Don't try that shit on me. I'm not one of your bureaucrat petitioners. I know you, and I know that right now you're adding Corypheus to a long list of things you're beating yourself up over." Varric sighed, shaking his head. "Look. I'm not going to tell you not to blame yourself. You and I both know better than to think that will do anything. But I am going to tell you that there is a reason so many people come to you. It's not because you're some all-powerful hero, capable of saving everyone from disaster. It's because you  _ try _ , Hawke. And in this world there are precious few like you, and the people who come to you know it." With one final look of genuine concern and compassion his his eyes, Varric turned and left the room, clearly knowing that there was nothing left to say. 

For a time Hawke simply stood rooted in place, staring at the door he had vanished through, until at last a noise at her back caught her attention and she found Fenris standing before the fireplace, stripping away boots, cloak, and the rest of his travel attire so that only his armor and gauntlets remained. With an expression of obvious relief the elf then turned his attention to the table, bedecked with a dinner large enough to feed a small family, retrieving a bottle of wine and cracking the seal with his teeth.

"And here I thought that your gauntlets were designed just for that purpose." Hawke murmured, earning a sideways glance from smoldering green eyes. 

"There is nothing quite like the smell of that first breath from a bottle of wine," he admitted quietly. "Using one's hands makes it difficult to capture that." With his free hand he pulled a chair away from the table pointedly and then took the opposite seat, watching Hawke as she smiled and joined him. "It seems you warrant all of the trappings," Fenris smirked slightly, nodding to the  laden table before them. "Would the Champion of Kirkwall be so kind as to break bread?" The level of formality Fenris applied to his tone was so unnatural that Hawke could not help but to chuckle at his display and oblige. 

The two spent their meal conversing pleasantly enough, Fenris leading the conversation for the most part, which was again an oddity but not an unwelcome one in Hawke's opinion. It was engaging and pulled her mind from topics she would otherwise be obsessing over at the moment. 

They spoke of easy things; how the landscape of Ferelden had changed since she had fled the Blight, and places Fenris had traveled previously that compared and contrasted with their current surroundings. Never did her family or Danarius enter their talks, though the locations they discussed had all been explored while in the company of those Fenris deliberately and artfully avoided mentioning. Finally Hawke paused.

"I had no idea you were such a conversationalist, Fenris," she admitted. "I've enjoyed speaking with you over the years, don't misunderstand me, but I don't believe you've actually ever guided a conversation as you are doing right now."

"Is this not enjoyable for you?" Fenris frowned. "You always seemed to appreciate idle talk in the past."

"No." Hawke spoke quickly, worrying that she had brought this dear man insult. She knew perfectly well where Fenris had learned to entertain so well, and the fact that he was now plying these skills for her benefit touched her in a way that she dared not explore. "No, this is... it's very nice. Unexpected but..." She smiled softly at last. "I know what you're doing Fenris, and I'm grateful. I'm grateful that you're here now." The scowl smoothed from her companion's features and he returned a fond smile of his own, the gentleness of his expression not commonly witnessed by any, she knew. 

"There is no place I would rather be, my friend." He rumbled gently. 

  


XXXX 

  


After having their travel supplies fully replenished by the Inquisition's own stock, and their armor and weapons tended to by the smith, there was nothing left but to bid Varric farewell again, who vowed that if he had to manage it by being dragged in irons behind the Inquisitor's horse, he would meet Hawke and Fenris in Crestwood. Though by the smile on his lips, Hawke believed that he'd have an easier time getting his way than he led on.

"Is there any woman you can't get to do your bidding?" She asked fondly. 

Varric laughed outright. "Are you kidding? Norah only tolerated me because Corff paid her to. Something about me oiling Bianca at her palatial suite table like it was a work bench seemed to bother her. Women can be damned scary, I tell you." With expressive brow movements he glanced over at Fenris. "And on that note, it's just the two of you now, Broody. Be on your toes."

Hawke chuckled and shook her head, yet Fenris' ever present scowl deepened. "I'd watch my tongue if I were you. Your Inquisitor's advisors are not the only ones who do not forgive insult easily."

Varric held up his hands in mock surrender, "Easy Broody. Hawke knows it was just a joke."

"Right." Hawke affirmed, "Especially because you haven't spoken an honest word to a woman since you were on your mother's apron strings." 

"Ouch." Varric grimaced. "That one was harsh. True, but harsh. Now get going you two. Once the Inquisitor has wrapped up a few things here we'll meet you in Crestwood."

With only a glance shared between them, Hawke and Fenris shouldered their packs once more and bid farewell to Skyhold and their friend. 

  


XXXXXXXX


	3. The Champion Rises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confronted by the realities of her actions and inactions, Hawke must make a decision. The Champion of Kirkwall must rise again; yet who will she rise to be?
> 
> Perhaps a second opinion is in order...

## ACT THREE: THE CHAMPION RISES

  
  
A/N - Tevene (latin) translations are at the bottom of the page.  
  


Returning to the highways was almost a welcomed respite for Hawke. Though she enjoyed the comforts of civilization, she now enjoyed anonymity more so. It was an oddity for her to be so introverted, she knew. She used to love being in the thick of a crowd. Spending time at the Hanged Man's tables, playing Wicked Grace and drinking with her friends, as well as anyone else who had the coin and cared to risk it, had been a great source of enjoyment for her. Yet now, when Hawke found herself surrounded by a mass of faces, she felt only emptiness. No matter how she tried, there were so many people who had come to her suffering, desperate, pleading for her help, and in her incompetence she had failed them.

Or worse: she had inadvertently caused their deaths.

It had been easy to dismiss these thoughts before. Her efforts at subterfuge in order to avoid public recognition, and the retaliation she believed would quickly follow, had given her something to focus on. But now the protection of the Inquisition had rendered her aliases unnecessary, the burden of the needs of the people had returned to her shoulders, and Hawke was more afraid than she had been in years; which was making the coming mission that much more difficult. Hawke remembered what red lyrium did to people; if there was more - enough to infect a small army of templars - then their battles against Bartrand and Meredith had been just the beginning.

It was after days of miserable travel over the highways, during which there had been near constant rainstorms upon descending from the mountains, and with these worries reverberating within her mind, that she and Fenris reached their first village stop, much to her relief this time. Finally they had enough coin in their purse to afford lodgings without requiring a trip to the chanter's boards to offset the cost. And by nightfall the pair were tucked safely into their room, dry and warm for the first time in nearly a week. At last Hawke thought that perhaps she might actually find some small relief.

That hope, however was short lived.

"Haec passuram non possum." The words, delivered through a low growl, caused Hawke lift her eyes to the chair beside her own and blink at her companion in mild surprise. They had been sitting in silence for some time, enjoying the long-overdue warmth of a fire upon the hearth before them, drying and oiling their gear to stave off the rust that would result from a week beneath torrential skies, and drinking the cheap wine that the innkeeper kept on hand for the guests. Overall it had been a pleasant enough evening in comparison to the last several days, she had felt, and she could find no reason for him to suddenly be so agitated.

"You know I don't understand Tevene, Fenris." she replied quietly, wondering if it had even been meant for her ears.

"It means 'I can tolerate this no longer,'" he replied from between clenched teeth, lifting his sharp gaze to hers and tossing his oiling cloth to the floor. "Exactly how long will you continue down this path, Hawke?" He demanded. "It has been two years. How long must this self-imposed guilt consume you before you are satisfied? Where is the woman I met in the alienage?" With every demand he grew more incensed until he was pacing before the fire, and she half suspected he was about to strike out at something physically. "The Champion I followed in Kirkwall never shied from adversity as you do now. Tell me, is that woman gone forever?"

And there it was, she realized. His breaking point had been reached.

She had often wondered if, or more precisely when, it would come to this. Fenris had been unusually tolerant, even supportive of her since they fled Kirkwall. Never in their prior years together had she ever known him to be so forgiving of anyone. She had considered in an honor; one she knew that she was taking too many liberties with. For no matter how close they had grown over the years, in the end Fenris was a man of strong principle, and she knew that she was defying those principles with her self-deprecation.

"I don't know," she murmured dejectedly. "I can't think of myself as the Champion of Kirkwall anymore. But I know you well enough to understand that my actions are wearing on your patience. You've never tolerated weakness well. If you choose to leave, I'll understand."

"Is that so?" Though the volume of his voice did not change, there was no mistaking the fact that Hawke had just infuriated him dangerously. She half suspected to see his markings begin to flicker, for how rigid he had grown, and how fiercely his eyes now shone. "Is that the value you placed on our friendship, then? You can support me through my trials and struggles, yet you cannot count on me to do the same?"

"What? No!" She blurted, realizing now how horribly she had insulted him. "No, of course not! Forgive me, Fenris, I was just-"

"You were just so busy wallowing in your self-induced misery that you forgot that you are not alone." Fenris replied, his voice a near primal growl within his throat, but there was something behind his rage now, something that Hawke could not positively identify, though it left her insides twisting. "You were _never_ alone, Hawke. Not in the Deep Roads, not beneath the foundry the night we fought Quentin, not even the night Kirkwall burned. Three of your greatest regrets I have played a part in, and yet you will not allow me to share in the blame that is partly mine." His words puzzled her; the way he spoke of her failures almost seemed to her like he was demanding his right to some great prize she was withholding.

Before she could puzzle out his thinking, however, Fenris was upon her, looming over her not with extraordinary height but with an indomitable will she had come to admire greatly over the years. "You may have been able to turn the others away, but you will not be rid of me so easily."

Yes, she knew that in the end she had chased away her comrades; or fled from them. Most of them, at any rate. It had been for their own protection, she had felt. To associate with her now was too risky. Yet Fenris refused to be deterred. "Why?" She whispered, the answer to her confusion dancing upon the knife edge of her awareness; so close, yet just out of reach. "What is it that keeps you here, Fenris? I don't understand."

A moment of utter stillness passed before, with deliberate care, Fenris lowered himself to his haunches before her, his elbows upon his knees as clear green eyes met and held her gaze as powerfully as any mage-born spell she had ever been subjected to.

"Don't you?"

The change in the timbre of his voice was drastic and so utterly unexpected that Hawke momentarily forgot to breathe; and when she recalled to do so it came as a shuddering gasp.

_It can't be._

But it was, she realized, and Hawke found herself breathless for a second time in these few seconds, now at the sight of Fenris unguarded. She had seen a comparable look turned on her like this, yet there was no anguished shadow behind the springtime hues she now gazed into as there had been within those prior amber depths. There was no fear of what could be and of what was to come.

Fenris was not afraid.

He was _never_ afraid.

Fenris, who had willingly traveled with her into dangers which had nothing to do with him, even when not invited. Who had granted her moments of rare smiles and laughter, yet always when in her company alone. Who shared stories of a past he would sooner not relive, if only because she had asked.

Fenris now trained on her an expression swirling with a mixture of pain and hope and frustration and such _longing_ -

Without pausing to consider her own fears, Hawke reached forward to catch olive skin and silver-white strands as soft as down between her palms so that she might crush her lips to his-

-and found her boldness rewarded.

Lithe arms ensnared her; armored hands clutching at her shoulders as soon as their mouths touched, tightening upon her until metal tipped gauntlets pierced her flesh. At her barely-audible gasp Fenris released his hold, muttering what she guessed to be a profanity as he hastily stripped the gauntlets from his hands and threw them almost violently away before capturing Hawke back into his arms and reclaiming her mouth with a near desperate possessiveness. She responded in kind, her hands sliding down his arms, raking her nails down his skin gently while pawing and pulling in an effort to increase the intensity of his embrace.

Now it was Fenris' turn to give a small, barely perceptible grunt and Hawke's hands lifted away instantly. "Your markings," she murmured against his kiss apologetically, remembering too late the pain they could inflict on the warrior. Yet Fenris was unfazed.

"They do not concern me," he growled softly, "I would suffer their discomfort a thousand times over for the feel of your touch."

The breath was squeezed from her lungs not by his arms, but by the emotions roiling inside of her, and with a groan she returned her lips to his lips and her hands to his arms, allowing them to slide up over his shoulders until they framed his neck and jaw. There she held him in place, deepening their kiss and sweeping her tongue over his lower lip until he opened his mouth and dueled his way into hers with gentle dominance.

The heat of his body beneath her hands was extraordinary, and she was overcome with a desire to experience more of it, yet as her fingers traveled over collar, shoulders and what she could reach of his chest, she could find not one catch or strap for his armor.

"Fenris," she pleaded against his teeth, "how-"

Removing her hand from his collar, he guided her hand to his back - never breaking their kiss in the process - where a short leather belt no wider than three of her fingers held his armor fastened, and once freed, his chest plate slid free into her lap before clattering to the floor, revealing a row of hooks and eyes down the front of his tunic.

"Only one fastener for your armor?" She asked, curious despite her preoccupation with the soft heat of his mouth.

"Why do you think I never let my enemies at my back?" He responded, and Hawke chose that moment to slide her fingertips up the back slit in his tunic - without her nails this time - to caress the skin over his spine with feather soft contact, watching with great interest as his back arched slightly into her touch and his eyes rolled closed momentarily.

"I'm at your back," she whispered against his lip.

"You are not my enemy."

"What am I to you, Fenris?" She breathed, and found herself gazing into fathomless crystalline depths. "Your friend?" There was a pause as he stared back at her.

"Anima mea." He answered at last, his voice near to reverent against her lips; she had never heard him speak in such a tone before.

"What is that?"

Bare fingers caressed her cheek as his eyes searched her features. "Permit me to show you." And with that Hawke found herself pulled to her feet, her rear suddenly cupped in his iron grip as Fenris lifted her against his body while she wrapped her legs around his waist, tasting his jawline and earlobes as he ventured across the room. When her tongue traced the etched line along his jugular the man beneath her hissed, arching his neck to grant her better access to the sensitive skin, which she tended to raptly before all too soon finding herself deposited upon her bed. With nimble, practiced fingers Fenris began rapidly releasing hooks from their catches, stripping his tunic and armguards from his body impatiently before leaning down to reclaim her lips, only to find Hawke's hand against his chest, halting his decent.

"Wait." She commanded, watching as his shoulders rose and fell hurriedly with every heaving breath he took. 'I've never seen you like this before," she explained, allowing her eyes to rove over his exposed torso with awed appreciation. His body was lean, yet incredibly well sculpted; perfect contours of muscle framed by curving lines of blue grey minerals engraved into him. Though it had been an act of cruelty in its rawest form, whoever had cut into his flesh had clearly done so with the intent of creating a work of art. The markings traveled from neck to torso, down long, corded arms and shapely fingers. From his neck and beautifully sculpted chest, the mineral gathered and dipped in its design to pattern his flat stomach in parallel lines that mimicked the ones she had glimpsed upon his spine, before disappearing beneath the waistline of his leggings like the lines on a map, guiding her to paradise.

"You are... Fenris, you are beautiful." Her fingers reached up to trace lines of definition between his pectorals, allowing her touch to follow the central line separating muscles down his core to his navel, tracing the rim of that shallow depression. With a gentle touch Fenris reached down to run his own fingertips along the side of her face, recalling her gaze to his own.

"I would say the same about you, if you will permit me."

Her hear fluttered within her chest; oh to feel cherished again! Maker, she hadn't felt like this in she could not recall how long. "Will you do something for me?" She asked.

"Whatever it is, it is done." He vowed.

"Say my name?" She asked, captivated by the emotions swirling within his eyes. "My given name? No one has called me by my given name in so long."

Lowering himself to kneel between her knees, Fenris took her waist within his hands, his head tilting, leaning into her mouth, yet not quite touching. She could feel his breath upon her chin as he withheld himself from her; smell the sharp tang of the minerals within his skin mixed with his musk that presently made her feel more womanly than she had in so long.

"Raina," his voice reverberated low and deep in his throat, graveled by passion in a way that made it even more sensual sounding than normal, and her insides melted into warm honey at the sound of what could be defined as sin incarnate. With eyes half-lidded, Fenris laid a slow, tender kiss upon her lips. "Raina," he repeated, lowering his lips to her throat, his fingers trailing to find the catches in her own armor, releasing them deftly and then dipping under the fabric and leather to explore her skin beneath, pulling a moan from her chest with startling ease.

With one hand he reached up to the back of her head, knotting his fingers into her short hair gently and pulling, drawing her head back so that he might feast upon her throat and the hollow point beneath her ear with greater ease, while his other hand swept the armor back from her shoulders and limbs. Yet before she was able to press her exposed skin to his delicious heat as she so wanted she found herself firmly pushed onto her back. Fenris' hands slid down over her thighs with deliberate, slow pressure from his fingertips, his eyes feral in a way that had nothing to do with battle. The sweet, kneading touch moved to her knees and calves to dislodge her high leather boots, then returned to her hips to her utter relief, so that he might slip her trousers from her body in similar fashion.

Freed of her outer garments, and unwilling to allow him to deny her again, Hawke's arms flew up, catching his shoulders and deftly pitching him onto the soft mattress beside her while mounting his hips in a single fluid motion. The moan that escaped his throat when her mouth reclaimed him was enough to set her body thrumming as though she had just been struck by lightening. She had always found his voice captivating, but to hear it choked with lust-

"Say something for me." She demanded suddenly, wanting very much to hear the desire in his voice at that moment.

"What exactly would you have me say?" He asked, his eyes burning her with their want as she began kissing down his throat, his collarbone, his chest, carefully nipping at unmarked flesh and laving her tongue over pale lines as she went.

"Anything." An idea struck her. "Speak to me in Tevene."

She saw from corner of his eyes as he lifted his head, his face mirroring his voice in the intensity of his emotions.

"Vestri somes est meus pyre1," he began, hissing again as her lips gently plucked at a patch of lyrium infused flesh beneath his navel, while her fingers lowered to the laces of his leggings, dancing over the prominent arousal the fabric did very little to conceal, "et ego exuro pro vestri tactus2."

His voice had thickened during her ministrations, his speech quickening as black fabric was pulled down his thighs, followed closely by lips bent on milking all of the desire they could from that velvet timbre. Deliberately she ensured that her hands stroked his muscular legs down their full length, until his clothing lay pooled at her knees with her own.

Above her Fenris continued his litany. "Sententia vos planto mihi iratus3," her mouth had found his hipbone, where her teeth played across unblemished olive skin, while her hands reached up for his small clothes, allowing her fingers to once again lightly skim his growing need before reaching the strings which held the thin fabric in place.

"Plasmator servo mihi, ego sum vestri, Raina.4"

Hawke sighed breathily against his skin. "I heard my name. What did you say?"

"The truth." He growled with waning patience, reaching down to clutch at her shoulders forcibly. "Now, enough of your torment." And with that Fenris pulled her atop his chest before she could free him from his final vestige of clothing, fastening his mouth over hers, demanding entrance and delving into her with complete abandon when she complied. His bare skin against hers was intoxicating; he felt near to feverish to her, yet the only flush to his features was a result of their present activities.

Reaching a hand behind her back, Hawke released the catch to her bindings, pulling the fabric from between their bodies so that her bare breasts pressed against his burning skin. Another Tevene oath, delivered by a near desperate groan, and Hawke found herself on her back again; Fenris atop her as she had only moments ago been atop him. Now it was his turn to gaze at her body in awe, and without giving him opportunity to decide for himself, Hawke took up his hand, cupping it to the side of her breast and using her own thumb to guide his over a taut nipple. At the feel of his calloused hand against her sensitive flesh, her head tilted back and her eyes rolled closed as she whispered a litany of her own.

"Yes, Maker, yes. Oh Maker, Fenris, touch me, please."

With her only warning being that of a low, animalistic growl, the weight above her shifted urgently at her words and no sooner did she open her eyes than wet heat engulfed her hardened peak in a searing kiss that pit his demanding tongue against her nipple; her only view that of a head of moonlit-colored silk bent over her breast attentively.

Hawke moaned loudly at the sensation, her back arching into his amazing mouth, pleading with him with her body to touch her, to torment her, Maker, drive her to the brink of madness!

And he did. Ardently. His tongue flicked, teeth pulled and lips suckled at the abused nub and its surroundings, while his hands abandoned her breasts to seek out her hips, where her smalls were stripped from her body unceremoniously; his following suit in similar fashion. With no almost no warning yet again Fenris returned to her mouth, reclaiming it frantically as though to assert that it was still his territory as well, before leaving her bruised and breathless so that he might revisit her exposed breasts.

Lips and teeth slowly traveled down from her sensitized peak, traveling the underside of the plump globe of her breast; nipping, pulling, suckling and licking as he continued his venture down her ribcage, moaning and uttering sounds she could no longer recognize as a true spoken language. Yet it didn't matter. His voice thrummed low and hard in her ears, spreading liquid fire in her belly and damp heat between her thighs, which she soon felt spread by firm, hard hands. Her head tipped back as she willing surrendered herself to what was to come.

"Do not turn your face from me," Fenris commanded in a voice so far gone to lust it must have burned in his throat like fire-brandy, she thought, for it burned her insides just as fiercely. "I want to see the look in your eyes when you finally lose control."

"Maker, yes," the last word drew out in a long, wavering hiss from between her teeth, and she lifted her gaze to find him kneeling between her thighs, his face poised before her center as though he had been waiting for her to take note; to understand his intent. She did, and a reluctant whimper escaped her lips at the thought of the pleasure that was being denied to her at that very moment.

If he felt any victory from cracking her resolve as he did she could see no outward signs of it on his face; smooth but for the concentrated furrow at his brow. So slowly Hawke had to consciously refrain from bucking up to meet him, Fenris lowered his mouth to her heat, parting her folds first with his lips, before exploring her with his tongue. Against her softest flesh he felt like polished marble, warmed by a fire before being pressed to her skin deliciously, and a low, broken cry tore from her physically.

Between her thighs Fenris raised his eyes to her pointedly, pausing in his attention to her to ensure that she remembered to keep her eyes on him and, vulgar though the scene may have been, the sight of this man between her legs was arousing in a way she had never imaged. She watched as his head dipped and tilted slightly while he worked her until she was drenched, his eyes ablaze with desire and never leaving hers during the encounter. When his lips latched onto over-sensitized bead crowning her sex, suckling it gently, Hawke's wordless cry filled the room while teeth and tongue and lips sent her spiraling over the edge of control and into the inescapable whirlpool of her first climax.

Her tunneled vision cleared after what felt like an eternity, and she found Fenris still perched between her thighs, his tongue trailing over his lips, erotically relishing in her essence. With feral grace he crawled over her, placing an almost chaste kiss upon her lower lip invitingly, before swirling his tongue deep into her mouth when she responded, allowing her to taste herself on him.

"Fenris," she panted when he allowed the kiss to break, tugging at his hip and pushing at his chest simultaneously, "I need..." Believing he knew her mind, the warrior lifted himself from her body, readying to bury himself within her when she stopped him. "No. On your back." His eyes darkened, pupils so dilated with want she could barely see their lush green color anymore, but he complied, laying down beside her and reaching over to pull her onto his chest; upon which she immediately slithered down his smooth skin until her face hovered over his arousal, cradled in a nest of black that contrasted so perfectly with his glorious platinum locks.

She began with small, opened-mouth kisses upon the head and shaft, which had him clutching at the sheets desperately and gasping. The sight of Fenris prone and writhing at her touch made her feel powerful and sensual and - Maker she wanted to see him lose control so desperately! She added her tongue to the kisses, lapping up the length of his shaft decadently, savoring the saltiness of his skin, her mouth open near his pulsating head; eluding to the promise of entrance before denying it to return to the base of his shaft to begin again. A low groan emanated from above her head and Hawke felt her body stir in response, desperate for him to be inside her already.

She had thought to draw out the exquisite torture of the equally exquisite man beneath her longer, yet her desire was winning over her control and, after only a few more laps with her tongue and small suckles at the tip his reddened head, she took him into her mouth.

He was long, longer than she had experienced previously, and it took her a moment to adjust to his size; to open her throat properly and take in his full length. Thank the Maker he didn't thrust up to meet her at that first contact, instead compensating by arching his back and burying his hips deeper into the mattress beneath him, moaning hoarsely as she had never heard him before. She hummed her appreciation at his display and earned two fists grasping at her hair desperately in response. With careful fingers she disentangled his grasp from her hair, transferring his hands safely to her shoulders before she at last began to work at him in earnest, suckling and sliding and twisting her tongue around that polished oaken shaft impaling her mouth, her fingers lightly stroking the underside of his sac with a tantalizingly slow rhythm while her other hand held to his base, applying pressure at opportune moments.

Fingers bruised her shoulders in grips that rivaled that of steel traps as she took him again and again down her throat, purring her appreciation of his responses and reveling in the reaction her own voice was eliciting from him. His soft skin slid fractionally over his erection with her motions, veins rolled beneath its surface at her tongue's abuse, and her throat closed around his head with every swallow, tightening on him as she took him further and further from reason. Above her head Fenris panted and spoke inarticulate things, occasionally intermixed with her given name or what sounded like what could be pleas in Tevene, if Hawke chose to believe that Fenris was capable of pleading for anything.

The heavy flesh within her playing fingers tightened suddenly she found herself pushed away by the hands at her shoulders, elegantly tapered fingers moving to grip at his shaft mercilessly as he groaned and remaining perfectly still for a moment before turning an expression of unadulterated desire upon her.

As though he had not just been brought to the very brink of his own climax, Fenris sprang from the bed, heaving her into his arms before slamming her into the wall opposite the bed, lifting her knee above his arm and burying himself within her in a singular motion that had her crying out from shock and arousal all at once.

Without pausing to allow her time to adjust to his size, Fenris began moving; hard, slow thrusts that made her back and rear grind upwards against the rough plaster wall, abrading her skin with each rise and accompanying fall. Panting his exertion he pressed his forehead and nose to hers, breathing her air and holding her gaze with rapt attention as he moved inside of her; and while there was no hurry in his actions there was most certainly a desperation that was evident each time he sheathed himself within her.

With each thrust from Fenris short, vocal pants escaped Hawke's lips, tiny cries that he could have swallowed if he would just affix his mouth to hers. Yet he held back, his lips parted as he watched her, his eyes so lust-fogged it was doubtful he was even aware of their surroundings anymore. The hand at her backside which supported her raised leg clenched at her soft flesh mercilessly, and she mewled each time his grip tightened; his other arm crooked over her head supporting himself against the wall; fist clenched so tightly his knuckles appeared bloodless.

"Mei.5" He growled breathily, his words lost to her as she felt herself nearing the crest of her pleasure. "Mulier mea. Raina mea. Anima mea. _Mei_. 6" The final word was bitten and hard, delivered from between clenched teeth as he thrust into her wildly, seemingly driven by his own mantra.

Feeling herself approaching her end, Hawke's hands rose to clutch at his sweat-slicked shoulders, trying to use them as leverage to ride him harder, deeper; Maker just _more_! Yet at the same time it was too much, and with a shrill cry the world exploded, unraveling her around him in pure, blinding ecstasy. At her ear Fenris' baritone cry accompanied the feeling of being impaled as slick heat splashed within her, taking her, claiming her, filling her in the most intimate, primal way and leaving her boneless, pinned between his body and the wall. Spent, Fenris' frame trembled against her as his climax subsided, and together the pair slid to the floor beneath them; his legs no longer able to support their combined weight.

Straddling his lap and still impaled upon him, Hawke brought Fenris' forehead to her shoulder, petting his hair and listening to his erratic breathing as he shuddered beneath her. The motion of his body's exertion traveled inside her where they were still joined, and her hips bucked reflexively at the sensation against her over-stimulated walls, causing him to clutch at her hips desperately, hissing a breath as he twitched within her, apparently equally raw. Yet neither tried to separate their bodies from the other, content instead to stay where they were for the moment, with Hawke stroking Fenris' locks as he leaned against her there on the floor.

And for the first time in years, Hawke's mind was empty.

If only for this moment, she had found peace.

 

XXXX

  
  


When next her eyes opened the weak light of a rain-soaked dawn bled through the windows she had failed to shutter the night before, and the pillow at her side lay empty. Lifting herself from her stomach slightly, Hawke peered over into their room, finding Fenris standing before the fire with his back to her. He appeared lost in thought, and for Fenris that was never a good sign.

"Are you all right?" She asked quietly, and he turned to her, his eyes large for an instant, before his face settled back into his mask of equanimity.

"I might ask the same about you." He murmured, not approaching her. "I was not particularly gentle with you, and I fear now that-"

"If you're going to apologize for last night, I'd rather you didn't." She interrupted quickly. "What we did together... it was amazing."

At last a small smile crept onto Fenris' features, erasing what she at last recognized had been anxiety in his eyes. "It was at that." He agreed. "It was better than anything I could have dreamed."

"And had you?" She dared pose the question. "Dreamed of this before?"

The mirth in his features died away, yet none of his usual fire replaced it. Instead he appeared quiet; pensive. "For years I have watched while another stood where I wished to stand," he admitted at last. "Even after what you had was dead, the ghost of what had been still haunted your memories. I knew that as long as you could not let go, my dreams would remain just that."

Hawke pulled herself to sit against the headboard, the thin coverlet slipping from her breasts, and she fought the silly urge to retrieve it. "I never knew," she sighed.

"Would it have made a difference if you had?"

"I... I don't know." She had loved Anders; even towards the end, when little of the man she had first come to love was left. Yet would she have abandoned him for Fenris? True she had come to care for Fenris greatly over the years, had even recognized how attractive he was during her relationship with Anders. But to leave the man she loved for another, simply because her present lover was struggling?

"I don't think my conscience would have allowed it." She admitted at last, and to her surprise Fenris nodded as though he understood.

"You possess the rare trait of loyalty, Ha-" he paused, and smiled for her warmly, "Raina." He finished, and she returned the smile with earnest affection. "It is a trait I have always admired in you. It is also the trait I knew would keep you from me for as long as you believed that the abomination was worthy of your love."

"And yet you stayed?" At her incredulous question Fenris' expression sobered dramatically.

"I suspected the day would come when he would reveal his true nature." He admitted. "I could not condemn you to suffer that alone. And so I stayed, awaiting a day when you might need me, just as I need you."

It was so hard for her to hear. For years Fenris had walked at her side, wanting her and knowing it might never be. And she had never known. Suddenly all of those kisses she had shared with Anders in public, the private smiles and the gentle touches Fenris must have witnessed, all seemed like blades she had used to inadvertently cut down this brave, stoic man.

Yet she would not apologize. Fenris was tired of watching her lament her past. She would not allow him to be another regret; it would infuriate him if she did. And so, she put forth all of her effort to push down the pang of sorrow, as she had been able to do so easily in the past, and chose a new path to focus on.

"Anima mea." She stated, clearing her features with old practice, "you said that more than once last night. What does it mean?"

A small smile crooked Fenris' features and for a moment his eyes darted from her face to the floor - Maker, was he _embarrassed_? "Yes. I did say that, didn't I?" He murmured, returning his gaze to her, wiping the smile from his lips with clear intent. "It means 'my soul'."

Hawke's heart all but stopped within her chest. "Is that what I am to you?"

Pale locks dances against his ears as he shook his head slowly. "That is... insufficient," he admitted, "yet, I can think of no other words to describe what you mean to me." Apparently unable to face her any longer, he turned back to the fire, his head dipped low as he rested one arm across the mantle. "You did not only save my life, Raina," he continued, his words muffled by the direction he now faced, "you gave me a purpose beyond vengeance and survival. You have taught me what it is to live for another; not out of subjugation, but willingly, because that person makes you better simply by being part of your life."

The most blessed pain gripped at her heart, and without waiting for another word to pour from that molten voice, Hawke strode to his back, wrapping naked arms around his shoulders and pressing her forehead to his soft hair. Carefully Fenris turned within her embrace, pulling her close and placing his forehead against hers.

"Then," she began hesitantly, "I will make you a bargain. I will be the woman you met in the alienage, if you will agree to stay with me and be my reason to not give up."

His eyes suddenly shone fierce, his jaw clenching spasmodically. "Nothing is going to keep me from you." He vowed, and crushed his lips to hers with an echo of the desperation they shared just a few hours past. When the kiss broke Hawke trained her eyes to the window.

"This rain is going to cause problems for our journey to Crestwood." She mused, allowing her eyes to slide back to Fenris'; his pupils already dilating as the pulse beneath his throat quickened. "I doubt the innkeeper would be opposed to us purchasing this room for another night," she continued, "and we should probably work on the terms of this new arrangement while we are here." Her mouth quirked, drawing out a chortle from her lover as he leaned into her lips readily.

"I think that would be a wise decision."

  
  


XXXXXXXX

  
  
Tevene Translations:  
  
1 \- Vestri somes est meus pyre, = Your body is my pyre,  
2 \- et ego exuro pro vestri tactus. = and I burn for your touch.  
3 \- Sententia vos planto mihi iratus, = Though you make me furious,  
4 \- Plasmator servo mihi, ego sum vestri, Raina = Maker save me, I am yours, Raina.  
5 \- Mei = Mine  
6 \- Mulier mea.  Raina mea.  Anima mea.  Mei = My woman.  My Raina.  My soul.  Mine.


	4. Once More to Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Facing down the realities of the task before her, as well as her own inner demons, Hawke finds the strength once more to rise to answer the calls for help. Yet when the situation grows increasingly explosive will resolve be enough to see the Champion through this newest challenge alive?

## ACT FOUR: ONCE MORE TO BATTLE

 

Understanding what would be asked of her after receiving Varric's message, Hawke had possessed the forethought to take steps that would assure her usefulness before meeting with the Inquisition; an organization which could have wanted her neck stretched for her part in Kirkwall's fall for all that she knew. That use would be to provide the Inquisition with intelligence they may need to turn their battle in their favor, and though she did not have much information to provide personally, she knew someone who would.

It had not been difficult for Hawke to pinpoint Stroud's location before arriving in Skyhold. She had made it a point to keep touch with a few of her more nomadic acquaintances in case she needed mobile support during her travels. Through this contact she had already been aware that something had been troubling the Grey Wardens of late, and that Stroud had been on the outs with his superiors, presumably for this unknown problem. In one of his last messages Stroud conferred his intent to slip into hiding if the situation worsened, though he would not speak of what the issue was outright. Given the recent mysteries surrounding the Grey Wardens' disappearances, Hawke was positive that Stroud would have taken his leave by now.

Thus it was to be a simple enough matter to travel to the cave where her friend had informed her in a coded message that he would take refuge. Or so she had believed.

In fact, the trek itself had proven anything but a quick jaunt through the countryside. The rains had not relented once since she and Fenris had descended the Frostback Mountains, and after two nights and one full day at the inn, the pair had decided to accept that they would be traveling uncomfortably going forward and return to the storm-wracked roads, or risk Stroud relocating without their knowledge.

Their luck, she found to her everlasting ire, was only to turn for the worse, however. The poor visibility caused by the foul weather had made it difficult to find their trails in this unknown landscape, and on multiple occasions Hawke found herself forced to backtrack in order to recover the route they had accidentally strayed from.

Then, of course, there were the undead. Ungainly creatures which were easy enough to dispatch... if you didn't unknowingly step into their resting places first.

By the time dawn broke on the final day of their travels Fenris was a growling mess of fatigue with varying gouges to his body from their numerous encounters, gauntlets that were growing increasingly difficult to function in after being sodden for so long, and waterlogged bare feet. Hawke was not much the better off. Her boots had flooded, her usual dexterity had been all but ruined by the sodden landscape, bringing about more injuries than usual during battles, and her hands were so numb from the constant cold rains that she could no longer spin her daggers with any efficiency within her grasps.

"How exactly did you manage to survive in this accursed country for so many years, Hawke?" The elf growled, ruffling his sodden hair with a single hand to stop the rivulets from running down over his eyes; the rain undoing his attempts in short order.

Hawke had learned quickly enough after leaving the inn that if Fenris was in a foul mood, or if they were in the company of others, he reverted to addressing her by her surname, which suited her just fine. She'd been accustomed to hearing that name used in any capacity over the years; but if her given name was only spoken in moments of tenderness she would treasure the sound of it all the more.

"Not all of Ferelden is like this," she grumbled in response as she trudged through mud that threatened to suck the boots from her feet. True this weather was unusual for her native land, yet Crestwood seemed bent on drowning them, and Hawke was quickly losing her patience with the area.

The cave was blessedly closer than she anticipated, though, and with a sigh of relief she lugged herself into the dark opening, leaning against slick rock walls as she pulled off her boots, pouring water from them as she would from pitchers. "We should probably announce ourselves," she announced once Fenris had taken a moment to scrape the muck from his feet, "no doubt Stroud will want to know he's among friends."

Traversing the narrow passageway was easy enough, though she found the bandit standards a bit comical. Thankfully he had laid no traps or trip wires to catch them up.

The large wooden door at the back of the corridor was solidly locked, but with a few steady blows she coaxed a roughly phrased demand from beyond the planking, the voice thick with an Orlesian accent. Reflexively she smiled. That was quite an act he was putting on!

"It's Hawke." She announced without any additional clarification, knowing that none would be needed. Moments later the door latches were released and she found her friend peering warily from the opening before laying eyes upon her and visibly relaxing at the sight.

"Hawke," he breathed, reaching an arm out to grip at hers in greeting, "it's good to see you."

"Likewise," she replied, "you and your impressive mustache." The smile she received in response was small, almost obligatory, and Hawke surmised that things were worse than she had feared. Putting aside any further attempts at levity, she informed him of her reason for coming, and of the visitors he was going to receive soon.

Thankfully Stroud appeared not only tolerant of the intrusion, but lightened by the prospect of it as well, if only slightly. "Perhaps we can be of assistance to each other then," her Orlesian friend murmured, apparently lost to his own thoughts. Grey Wardens were given to secrecy, and Hawke expected this was the case yet again. And so she volunteered herself and Fenris to stand guard at the mouth of the case and wait for the Inquisitor and her party to arrive. Without additional conversation Stroud returned to the cave, and Hawke and Fenris took up their assigned sentry positions, understanding that the Grey Warden was in no mood to exchange pleasantries.

The day wore on, and as it did the rain at last faded until it was nothing more than a light drizzle, falling cheerfully from a nearly sunny sky. Hawke chuckled darkly and cursed their luck aloud; Fenris smirking with her in her sardonic humor and joining in with a few choice epithets of his own.

It felt _right_ \- sitting here with him, carrying on as they had before that fateful night in Kirkwall. Yet it was not exactly as it had been before, she realized, for there was a warmth in his eyes now when he looked upon her; a softness to his smile that spoke of secrets shared between the two of them alone, and she could not resist returning the expression in earnest.

When his eyes began to swim with unspoken emotions she found herself tempted to wrap her arms around his neck and drink in another of his intoxicating kisses, until the sound of hooves on the path caught her attention. In moments the Inquisitor was upon them, Varric and two others reigning their own mounts in behind her. Hawke stifled an undignified giggle at the sight of one very uncomfortable dwarf on the back of a horse that nearly tripled his own height.

With their mounts secured Varric took the brief liberties of introducing the pair to Cassandra, the Seeker Varric had written her about, and a mage by the name of Dorian. Yet as Hawke lead the company inside, her arm was caught up by her dwarven friend, who pulled her back for a moment.

"Listen," his voice dipped low as he cast furtive glances at the backs that were moving further into the cavern without them, "I tried to convince her to leave Dorian behind, but they're practically inseparable. Almost as much as her and the Commander. She wouldn't leave him without cause, and I couldn't give her the reason without royally pissing her off. Just do us all a favor and keep Broody away from him."

Hawke's brow quirked. "There's no need for that. We knew that we would likely be working along side mages again," she replied softly, "the Inquisition sided with them, after all."

"Yeah, but you didn't count on Dorian." Varric grimaced. "He's Tevinter, pal. A Tevinter magister."

Hawke's stomach performed a series off flips within her at the revelation. "Maker!" She blasphemed vehemently, yet managed to keep her voice to a whisper, "Varric! Why didn't you stop her from bringing him?"

"I tried!" Varric repeated, over annunciating his words as though trying to speak reason to a drunkard; a display that Hawke did not appreciate.

"You should have tried harder!" She rasped. "If Fenris finds out-"

"Just don't let him." Varric suggested as though the idea were simple enough. "Keep him distracted. You're good at that, after all."

Hawke opened her mouth to retaliate before stopping short, eyeing the dwarf suspiciously.

"You knew." She accused.

"What was that?" Varric blinked, not following her insinuation. Yet their opportunity for secrecy was brought to an abrupt end.

"Hawke." Fenris' voice called for her quietly from within the cave, his platinum head coming into view as he circled back to find her. "Why are you lingering out here?"

Her mind stumbled for a reason - any reason - to have remained behind while not actually lying to a man who shared so many secrets with her. Recalling her secondary grievance with Varric, she quickly decided that the dwarf would have to be sacrificed for the greater good. "You knew Fenris had feelings for me all this time?" She demanded of her favorite storyteller, her eyes narrowing on him heatedly. "You knew and you never told me?" 

Varric blinked, glanced at Fenris and then shifted his feet. "Well shit. This is awkward. Care to throw me a bone, Hawke?" Varric asked. "Are congratulations in order, or should I be taking the elf here out to drink himself into a stupor?" 

"We'll discuss this later," Hawke whispered heatedly, yet not so quietly that Fenris could not hear, stomping into the cave and praying silently that Varric knew she wasn't truly upset with him. Well, not _that_ upset at him at any rate. "For now we have a task ahead of us."

At her back there was a fair amount of shuffling before a pair of heavy boots plodded along behind her. "Well, I'm not crawling out of this one anytime soon," she heard Varric grumble as they hurried to meet the others and then, to her surprise, Fenris' low response. 

"Hawke never did like to be the last to know anything." He reminded Varric. "I will speak to her again. She already understands that nothing could have developed between us sooner than it did." 

"Sooner than it did, huh?" Hawke could not measure Varric's opinion of Fenris' revelation by the dwarf's voice alone, which was unusual for the normally expressive man. "So, you and Hawke? The world's a crazy place."

She had not time to ponder her friend's opinion of the couple's new-found romance for, to her horror, she found the door to Stroud's hideaway already open when she reached the back of the cavern, and inside the Grey Warden had the tip of his sword at the Inquisitor's neck. 

_Maker - what is he doing?!_  

"It's just us!" Hawke called, striding into the cavern quickly. "I brought the Inquisitor." 

After a tense few moments Stroud sheathed his blade, making formal introductions to the Inquisitor and promising his service. Thankfully the Inquisitor seemed more glad for the offer of assistance than she did upset at her first encounter with Hawke's friend, and Stroud quickly began to share what knowledge he possessed of Corypheus. It was all speculation and conjecture, until Stroud made a startling revelation: 

The Orlesian Grey Wardens were hearing the Calling. All of them. At once.

"Maker!" Hawke gasped, horrified. "Why didn't you tell me?" 

When Stroud informed her that it was a Grey Warden affair she seethed inwardly. The man knew that she had a sister in the Order, and he had the audacity to keep something _this_ important from her?

"And every Grey Warden in Orlais is hearing that right now?" She demanded, Bethany's face swimming before her mind's eye and, to her surprise, Anders' as well, for he had undergone the Joining, and that was permanent. Or so Anders had told her. "They think they're dying?" Her concerns spiraled outward. Stroud knew of the Orlais Wardens, but what of the Wardens in Ferelden? Or the Marches? And where was her sister?

Hawke could not feel that guilt that had nearly suffocated her before. She could not feel that horrible failure at the lives she had failed to save. Bethany could be in danger right now, believing herself dying, because of that _creature_.

Right now, all Hawke felt was rage. 

And then, once Stroud had recounted the Grey Warden's foolish intent for saving their order and departed for the Western Approach - to her horror - things became even worse. 

"This would not be something you would have any knowledge of, I presume?" The Seeker spoke up after Stroud had departed, her words casual enough, though the stare she pinned on Dorian was nearly accusing. 

"Oh yes, of course," droll humor rolled off of the man's tongue with practiced ease as he affected what appeared to be a nostalgic expression. "All Tevinter magisters are taught blood rites in deserted towers. Ah, this will be just like my apprentice years." 

Fenris went rigid, and at her back Varric's muttered expletive suddenly didn't seem sufficient in Hawke's opinion.

"I should have known." The former slave snarled, and Dorian appeared for the first time honestly taken aback at the sudden reaction from the composed elf. When Fenris took his first step towards the mage Hawke immediately intervened, placing herself squarely before her new lover, her hand on his chest. 

"Fenris, there's no need-" 

"Move aside, Hawke," Fenris sneered, ripping her hand from his chest and attempting to push her aside; yet Hawke held her position, freeing her hand from his metal grasp at the cost of a few bloody lines drawn upon her wrist, and gripping his shoulder tightly. 

"This man has done nothing to you." She replied, trying to keep her voice calm and composed. "He is fighting with the Inquisition-" 

"His kind is the definition of everything vile in this world!" Fenris snarled, white teeth flashing from bronzed skin. "And you expect me to cooperate with him-" 

"I'm not _expecting_ anything of you." She announced forcefully, drawing her shoulders back and lifting her chin as she always had when commanding someone's attention. "I'm _asking_ you to trust me." Her voice softened, her head tilting slightly as she gazed at him seriously. "Is that something you can do again, Fenris? Or am I asking too much?"

Green eyes ablaze with near unbridled hatred laid upon her, and to her relief began to flicker. After a moment the cords within his neck relented fractionally and he took a single step back. 

"Festus bei um canaverum." He muttered.

That phrase he had translated once for her, and a sudden sadness gripped her heart at how valid it could someday prove. "Maker, I hope not." She whispered, and that softly spoken admission seemed sufficient to break him from his prejudice induced trance as he blinked at her odd response. 

"We should get moving," he announced and spun upon the balls of his foot, following the path Stroud had used to exit the cave. 

 

XXXX 

 

The Western Approach had been horrific to bear witness to, but it had also given Hawke the conviction she had needed to stand against an order she had always held in high esteem. The Grey Wardens had protected Thedas since the first Archdemon crawled out from the stinking depths. And in a show of the power which fortitude and strength of will could endow, the last Blight's end had been orchestrated by the only two Grey Wardens left in Ferelden. Two Wardens, where there had once been hundreds, and still they were able to slay the Archdemon be sheer ingenuity and determination. The Grey Wardens were unquestionably a force to be reckoned with. 

Yet what this group of Wardens was doing was inexcusable. They had not just resorted to blood magic out of desperation to save their own lives. They had allied themselves to a darkspawn magister, sacrificed human lives to raise an army of demons, enslaved the minds of their own mages to ensure compliance, and now were planning their ascension to 'god-kings' to rule the world under Corypheus' boot heel. 

Or so the mage at their fore claimed. 

Hawke's resolve had become infinitely clearer. Though Stroud spoke of their reasons and attempted a weak defense, Hawke knew that all who followed this path would be put down. There would be no compromises. The image of Bethany, lifting her hands and lowering them like a puppet on command as those Wardens in the Western Approach, had her grinding her teeth in near a nearly blinding fury and gut-roiling fear. She would not allow her sister to come to such a fate. 

And if she had... Hawke's fists trembled at her sides. 

_Maker have mercy on the Grey Wardens, for I will not._  

And so when the Inquisition's Commander - who unbelievably enough was Cullen Rutherford, the one-time templar who had stood with her in the final battle against his own Knight Commander two years ago - had asked her to join the Inquisition's ranks when they stormed Adamant Fortress, Hawke had volunteered her temporary services gladly, not even asking Fenris if he would come. She already knew his mind, for it was the same as hers.

The traitorous Grey Wardens must be put down. 

 

XXXX

  

It had started in silence, as all great battles did. Moonlight and anticipation were the only presences hanging in the air. No voice carried in the still night skies.

Then came the first explosion of sound: a war cry delivered from the lungs of the Commander of the Inquisition's armies. 

And so began the bloodiest battle Hawke had seen since Kirkwall fell.

As one both sides rose to Cullen's challenge. Demons crawled forth at every corner. Wardens railed against the invading army with anything and everything at their disposal. Inquisition siege engines laid waste to stonework, and soldiers poured over the fortress' battlements - Hawke and Fenris among them - to find their foes waiting eagerly on the other side. Yet as a testimony to Cullen's leadership the Inquisition's forces rallied valiantly, proving beyond a shadow of a doubt that they were hard-trained and battle ready. 

And so Hawke danced. 

It had been years since she had been able to dance as she did. Small skirmishes on the highways and country roads provided almost no opportunity to push her abilities to their limits. But here, surrounded by demons and warriors bent on her death, Hawke felt herself able to simply let go of thought; of restraint. She was her own greatest weapon. 

Her daggers sang free of their sheaths as the first of her prey moved in, her body spinning lightly on her soft boot soles, twirling her in circles with her blades extended on either side like deadly wings. And around her three Wardens fell at her feet; expressions of shock frozen upon their lifeless faces. 

Without pausing she located her next target and lunged; her dagger an extension of her arm, and the rage demon at the end of her assault was hurtled over the edge of the battlements to its death.

At her back game a guttural growl, and she whirled to find Fenris carving his way through human and demon flesh as though he were cutting down wheat in a field. His lyrium marks blazed to life and his sword swung wide with a grand sweeping gesture, leaving him ample room to bury his unencumbered arm in the chest of a mage before him, ripping the appendage free with a horrible sucking sound. It was enough to cause a few Wardens around them to balk; a reaction that Hawke capitalized on quickly, along with a few nearby Inquisition soldiers; dropping those off-balance Wardens with ease.

And Hawke danced, and twirled, and leapt and killed. At times she danced in tandem with Fenris, and that dance was intimate and thrilling and brutal. She'd never fought at his side in such a way; twisting her body around his, using her blades as close-combat cover while the warrior inflicted massive damage upon those before him, muscles bunching in his corded arms as he wielded that massive sword with a grace and ease one would never suspect from a man of such trim build. 

He was magnificent, she decided, and was surprised to find a small smirk upon his lips following one particularly close pairing. She allowed her battlefield facade to fall if only for a moment, returning the smile before schooling her features to stone once more and spinning around to Fenris' back, ripping her blade across the throat of a man who had intended a stealth attack. 

"I'm at your back," she murmured. 

"I know." Came his rumbled response, and again her composure slipped for an instant at the meaning behind those words. 

Moments later, or perhaps it was hours, a tremendous crash shook the very stone beneath her feet. "They've breached the doors!" She shouted to her nearby allies.

It was just in time, too. Though she and Fenris were cutting down foes with practiced ease, more and more were rushing in to fill the fallen's places with every passing minute, while ally soldiers fell with greater frequency the longer they were forced to endure so little support. Soon skill alone would be insufficient - they needed greater numbers if they hoped to come out of this with their skins. 

Yet all was not well just yet. To their immediate right a pride demon materialized from a small group of Warden mages, and Hawke bit out a coarse oath. She and Fenris might have been able to survive a fight against a pride demon just barely, had their potions not been touched, and if there had not been Warden mages prowling around the demon like lurkers. 

Desperately she bellowed for help from soldiers in the distance, yet they were in no position to assist; too embroiled in their own present battles to break away. The monstrosity, however, heard her call, and with a laugh that drove a chill down her spine it approached. Grimly, Hawke bared her teeth and rose up on the balls of her feet, preparing herself for a battle she knew she had little chance of winning. 

At her side Fenris lowered himself to a near crouch. "Be ready to draw its attention," he growled, and she nodded her understanding. Being fleeter of foot, she would act as decoy while he unleashed the full extent of his power upon the demon. It was risky, but it was all they had. 

And then, like a prayer answered, a bolt as fat as her finger and as long as her forearm struck the demon where its heart should be, and another only a second later buried in the monster's neck.

"I've got your back, Hawke!" Varric's familiar cry was a boon to her soul, and she nearly laughed aloud with relief. With the knowledge that she was now supported, the former Champion rushed in, only to find herself matching strides with the Inquisitor herself. The women glanced at one another as they tore into the fray, the Inquisitor smirking lightly at her ally. 

Four daggers sang out; the Inquisitor blitzing past the monster with a surprisingly brutal blow considering her chosen class and stature, while Hawke crouched low, skirting along the demon's peripheral vision so that she could strike out at an exposed weaker point on its flank, her daggers piercing holes in the armored skin with ease once she was able to surprise it. 

Together she and the Inquisitor dipped and darted, spinning clear to make room for their warriors, or to give wide berth to one of Dorian's spells or a volley of Varric's arrows. It felt oddly familiar, almost like her days of fighting beside Isabella when the two would practically duel each other in play as they took down their foes, though the Inquisitor was far less vocal and more disciplined in her techniques than the pirate captain. 

Unexpectedly whips of lighting suddenly crackled into existence within the demon's claws and, caught off guard, Hawke felt a jarring impact more than any pain as she sailed into the air; Fenris' cry of alarm echoing faintly in her ears. The world faded to black and silence for an instant and then Dorian was above her, his hands glowing green as he poured a potion down her throat. 

"I would recommend not standing in the path of those bolts in the future," he said flippantly, and against her better judgment Hawke smiled. 

"I'll try to remember that." She replied, rising to rush back into combat and finding Fenris aglow with the power of his markings; his eyes twin orbs of cerulean light as he struck out at the demon viciously. 

"Fenris," she called, and a near maddened face turned to her; eyes widening impossibly at the sight of her standing, and for a moment he forgot to raise his sword to defend against the coming blow. 

Yet green energies sailed over his head, throwing the demon's arm back violently, and from behind Fenris' shoulder Dorian leaned in. "You're welcome, by the way," he purred into the pointed ear, and Hawke could not tell if it was for saving Fenris from the demon or Hawke from her injuries. Yet no retort came from the former slave, save for an alarmingly large bulging of his jaw. 

The battle against the pride demon continued on hard-fought, with Fenris, Stroud, and Cassandra proving the most useful against its formidable defenses as their blows were the most punishing, and eventually the monster groaned and crumbled to the ground before fading into nonexistence. 

Hurrying off to lay waste to the remaining siege points, the Inquisitor gave Hawke a brief smile and word of thanks before together the ever expanding group moved deeper into the fortress; encountering more demons, Wardens and abominations with every turn. Yet soon enough they pushed past the final set of doors to find that odd green glow that spoke of a rift filling the inner courtyard, and within mages and Wardens crowded while the Warden Commander herself sacrificed a man before the gathering. 

Enraged, the Inquisitor stepped forward, hurling accusations and demands at the Tevinter magister from the Western Approach and Warden Commander Clarel, though to no avail. With a barked command from the leader of the Grey Wardens, the rift within the courtyard expanded dangerously, leaving Hawke and Stroud to raise protests of their own to the Wardens, desperate to avoid what they thought was to come. 

Until something tore free from the skies and sailed over their heads like a black cloud. 

A dragon. 

_But... no..._  

It was, but then again it was not. Hawke had fought dragons before, but nothing like _this_. This dragon was darker, grotesque in its form and seeming decay, and elicited a response within the Wardens like nothing Hawke had ever witnessed.

And then she understood what it was they were seeing. 

_Maker preserve me, that's an Archdemon!_  

Immediately Wardens were rallying to the Inquisitor's group at the command of Clarel who, from her place upon the dais, attacked the Tevinter magister at her side before throwing magical energies against the Archdemon without restraint. 

Around them the courtyard exploded into a frenzied nightmare. Demons spawned in every corner of the clearing, Wardens fought and fell shrieking to the ground, and a steady string of Tevene profanities poured from Fenris' lips, or at least Hawke believed they were profanities, judging by the echoed phrases or additional words she heard Dorian elicit during Fenris' breaths.

Yet there was no time to engage them all, for Clarel was rushing to the battlements in pursuit of the Tevinter magister, with the Inquisitor and her troupe not far behind. If there was any hope to stave off the tide of demons pouring into the fortress, it would be with those two. Rounding corners and dodging abominations and demons at every turn, Hawke and Fenris finally reached the battlements behind the Inquisitor and Stroud; her skin prickle with apprehension at the scene. the Warden Commander was a furious sight to behold, attacking the magister without reserve from her place beside the ramparts, until he was little more than a quivering, smoking mass of flesh and cloth upon the stone. It seemed to Hawke that the man's death was all but inevitable. 

Inevitable, that was, until the Archdemon dropped from the heavens on black wings of death and plucked the Grey Warden from the battlements, carrying her off and shaking her violently before tossing her back to the stonework. Such a horrific attack should have been enough to kill anyone, yet impossibly Clarel rolled to her back, muttering something softly as she raised her hand into the air - 

\- and rent the battlements asunder with a magical blast the likes of which Hawke had never before witnessed; the Archdemon floundering and falling beneath the stonework with a terrifying guttural howl. 

"Run!" The Inquisitor shrieked as the great pavers beneath their feet began to give way, crumbling to to the jagged rock below. Needing no further coaxing, as one the group turned to flee, with the Inquisitor trailing behind, pushing Stroud passed her forcibly. 

Nimbler than Fenris, Hawke reached back, clutching at his arm desperately and pulling at him as though she had any hope of speeding him along beyond his current pace. Yet in the end he could not outrun the crumbling stone and mortar, and she would not release her hold on the man she so desperately needed. 

And so the rock beneath their feet gave way, and then they were falling, the pit of her stomach rising into her throat as she watched the ramparts rush by her through her decent; thought that this was it, this was the end of it all. 

Until the brilliant green light swallowed her. 

 

XXXXXXXX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy marathon chapter! I normally try to keep my chapters under four thousand words so my readers don't get bored, but when this got rolling I just couldn't find a good place to break it off sooner. And when you're blaring fighting music in your ear buds while writing a fighting scene you really don't have any control over shortening it up. You obey the music, dammit, because it is in control and you are just the fingers on the keyboard. Ha!


	5. The Worst Sort of Demons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trapped in the Fade, Hawke must face her fears and her own inadequacies if she hopes to escape alive. Yet she is not the only one with private nightmares to battle, and fear can change even the most noble of people. The question remains - can that change ever be for the better?

Hawke swallowed again, trying to quell the rising panic beneath a mask of pure determination; a mask that had once been a second skin for her. This place was doing something to her, twisting her insides into a strange, irrational maelstrom of anxiety. She hated useless fear such as this, when there was no reason to fear beyond the fear of the unknown. It riled her, grated at her nerves and drove her to fits of ire that warred for dominance with the panic which persistently threatened to bubble free. Yet in moments when she lost that blessed anger the back of her neck would tingle as though anticipating the sting of an unseen blade, and her nerves practically sang with the need to move, to run, to fight against the something that threatened her from every corner of the landscape. 

She had attempted to reason with her irrationality at first, reminding herself that she had not felt like this the last time she had entered the Fade. True, last time they had entered the Fade as dreamers and not physical beings, yet that time friends had succumbed to the temptation of demons; had turned against her and attacked her for the sake of demon promises. Here the people she followed were already on guard against such temptation. They were prepared. 

So why could she not master control over herself?! 

Where reason failed her, however, their brief skirmishes against the native spirits and lesser demons succeeding in lessening her dread - if not outright dispelling it. Fighting always helped her focus upon the task at hand. It gave her clarity, if only to help show her where her priorities should lie. 

 _Stay alive. Protect your allies. Strike the target. Fast. Faster! Don't let them touch you._  

Fighting was a respite she welcomed gladly. Yet when the first of the spiders materialized she could no longer find relief even there. For as she fought them, she could not help realizing that they were more grotesque than any spider she had faced in Thedas; an odd combination of oozing pustules, oversized mandibles, horned bodies, and bristling black hairs that dragged at her clothes and armor when the creatures' limbs drew too near. 

She had admittedly never cared to fight these insects during her numerous expeditions over the course of her life. There was only one other person left in this world who knew of the time when giant arachnids had attacked Hawke as a small child while she played in the farm fields just outside of Lothering, and thankfully Bethany had never chosen to share that knowledge with their party. That day had instilled an unnatural fear within the eldest sibling ever since; one that left her skin crawling with each battle against the beasts she had blundered into thereafter. 

Yet just as she was about to curse the Blighted beasts and their Maker-damned origins, her fears mutated from revulsion to dread for her very soul when a figure rose up before them - unmistakeable despite the fact that Hawke had never before laid eyes upon her - composed, self-assured, and utterly impossible to believe. 

Divine Justinia could not be in the here, Hawke knew. She was the Divine! She should be with the Maker and this place - this cesspool - was not the Maker's seat. The idea that someone as righteous and worthy as the Divine would be here in this festering pit of the Fade made Hawke's gut swirl with apprehension. If this was what awaited the Divine, what fate would await _her_ in the here-after? 

Yet the Seeker and the Inquisitor, while skeptical, seemed willing enough to entertain the idea that Justinia was here just as they were. Rifts were unnatural and unknown. It could be possible that Justinia had fallen through a rift at the conclave and been stranded here, or so the group's conversation allowed. 

At Hawke's side Fenris scowled and stepped in closely to her side. "Be on your guard," he growled to her, his voice low enough that the Inquisitor's conversation with Justinia did not falter. "This could be an attempt to manipulate us." Hawke nodded, grateful that she was not alone in her trepidations. 

"Agreed. But we have no alternative. For now we follow the Inquisitor and make for the rift." 

Before them Justinia was spinning a tale of a fear demon - a Nightmare - which presided over this place. The existence of this realm wove itself around the nature of its master in order to feed the demon from the fears of those who stumbled into its lair. Overall it was not a comforting thought, though it did give Hawke an explanation as to her recent onset of cowardice. 

Still, knowing a thing and being able to overcome it were two entirely different fetes. When the group set out to recover the memories the Inquisitor had been stripped of during her last journey into the Fade, Hawke found herself growing tired of her own apparent weakness as well as irrationally angry with Stroud for his continued defense of his brethren, even after the Inquisitor's memories depicted the Grey Wardens as a chief cause for the disaster at the conclave. And in her relief to feel something other than the tickling fingers of dread upon her spine, Hawke allowed her temper to go unchecked, lashing out at her friend and all but holding him personally accountable for the sins of his comrades. If Fenris' pointed stare in her direction was intended to restrain her, she could neither guess or care. 

Then there were, of course, the spiders. They cropped up everywhere; descending from eves high overhead, or scuttling from crevices in the rock faces; their hard bodies clicking horribly against the stone and dirt as they moved. At her side Fenris snarled and barred his teeth as he fought, roaring defiantly as he hacked into grotesque carapaces and sending their liquified insides splashing to the ground sickeningly. 

"Spiders," she murmured, cursing at the way her voice trembled as she peered down at the last of the slain beasts. "Why is it always spiders?" Fenris lifted a quizzical gaze at her; Cassandra mirroring his confusion as she regarded Hawke thoughtfully.

"Spiders? I see maggots, crawling in filth." The Seeker's admission was accompanied by a revolted shudder as she stared at her battle-soiled sword and emitted a noise of sheer disgust, dragging the blade across the dirt at her feet as she tried to wipe it clean. The admission puzzled Hawke. How could they be fighting different foes? And then it occurred to her that Fenris had also appeared surprised at her complaint. 

"You don't see spiders either?" She turned to him, and he grimaced in response, his jaw clenching tightly. 

"No," he grated, "I do not..." His voice faded and his eyes roved to focus off into the distance, burning with emotions that Hawke almost could not recognize upon his features; and when she did it unnerved her greatly. She had assumed - perhaps foolishly so - that Fenris no longer recognized fear. Now, aware that she had been mistaken, the reality of what was happening took root in her mind. 

"This place," she thought aloud, "it takes your worst fears and pits them against you." 

She wondered what it was that Fenris saw. What horrors did he have to battle against? Danarius? Slavers? Mages? She couldn't imagine him fearing any of them. True he had feared Danarius, yet the magister was dead. There was nothing left to fear on that account. And he had already killed so many slavers and mages during their time together that it seemed improbable for him to still fear their kinds.

Whatever his fears were, Fenris clearly held no desire to share them, at least publicly, and she knew better than to pry. And so she abandoned this conversation and turned her attention to the back of the Inquisitor, who at present was leading them down a stairway of carved rock and, with luck, towards the rift that would take them home. 

Luck, she found, was never kind to her or those she cared for. 

"Ah, we have a visitor." A voice, as deep and thunderous as a rock slide called from everywhere and nowhere all at once, and instantly Hawke's spine felt rigid enough that it could snap if she attempted to bend it. "Some foolish little girl, comes to steal the fear I kindly lifted from her shoulders." At their fore the Inquisitor's stone-hard gaze intensified, and she lunged at the next spider that presented itself, cutting it down with apparent blind hatred, while around their ears the disembodied voice continued to croon out to them softly, almost affectionately, though there was no quality within those fathomless tones that could be considered soothing. 

Then, without warning, the sound of Varric's name met their ears and Hawke spun on her friend, her eyes wide with terror as she tensed, her blades ready, and waited for whatever attack was coming for the dwarf. Yet only words followed. "Once again Hawke is in danger because of you, Varric. You found the red lyrium. You brought Hawke here." 

Golden eyes flecked to Hawke's features as fear and sorrow warred for dominance on that beloved face. And Hawke recognized that _this_ was the attack; instilling fear upon them for the purpose of drawing power was the creature's intent. And it was apparently working. 

Thinking quickly Hawke forced herself to school her features. To smirk as though she had just found herself to be the punchline of some joke and roll her eyes. "When am I _not_ in danger, Varric?" She asked drolly, and that bit of hard humor seemed enough to pull a growled taunt from her friend, followed by a derisive smile of his own as the mighty twang of Bianca's bowstrings announced the death of a strange, skittering denizen of the Fade.

Hawke's answering smile was slightly more earnest now, relieved she had been able to bolster Varric's nerves. 

As if it understood the moment's solace she had found, the voice called to her. "Did you think you mattered, Hawke?" It asked, sounding quite nearly incredulous. "Did you think anything you ever did mattered? You couldn't even save your city. How could you strike down a god?" Her blood ran cold; her fingers unable to spin the daggers in her hands or see the spider before her as the hateful words burrowed into her heart. "Fenris is going to die just like your family, and everyone you ever cared for." 

At her side a fierce grip caught up her arm painfully and she turned her head to find green eyes boring into her fiercely; Fenris' sword impaled upon the spider that had been moving in on her. 

"Hawke," he growled, and his voice held no comfort or concern; only warning. She blinked.

He was keeping his promise. Giving her a reason. 

She would honor their promise as well. 

"Bastard!" She bellowed and ripped her arm free of her lover's grasp, hurtling herself back into the fray, and cutting down a demon that was flanking Dorian. The mage turned and winked his appreciation for her with what could have been levity had his eyes not taken on such a hard shine. 

One by one the members of their entourage were singled out as they battled their way deeper and deeper into the Fade; each one forced to bear witness to the telling of their most guarded fears, until at last the voice dipped ominously as a pride demon lumbered towards them. 

"You cannot save her," the voice growled above the taunting laughter of the demon, "it is the legacy of her family that she dies in agony. You believe a slave can stop that? You are nothing, Fenris. It was Hawke who defeated your master. Not you. How can _you_ possibly save _her_?" 

Lyrium flared to life along the lengths of arms and neck and Fenris let lose a roar which promised violence and death the likes of which Thedas trembled in fear of, his body flickering until he was defined solely by an ethereal glow; devoid of all color save the blue light of lyrium power; until he was barely even that. 

Light moved, casting shadow against rock and rank waters, and the pride demon staggered at an unseen attack, then staggered again. Again and again the demon faltered under blows that struck out like lightening; unseen but for brief flashes of blue illumination. Hawke stood stupefied. She had seen Fenris utilize his markings to slip unscathed amongst the battlefield, but never had she watched him become a specter of death. 

Thinking quickly, Dorian capitalized on the creature's sudden vulnerability with a barrage of well placed fireballs and bursts of green energy, carefully avoiding the blue shimmer that sizzled and sparked around the beast until at last the demon toppled. 

And without warning the blue light moved for the magister, and Hawke's blood froze. 

"Fenris!" She cried out, and threw herself before Dorian, her daggers falling forgotten from her fingers as she splayed her arms out wide, watching an arc of light flare out at her - 

\- and fade to reveal the sullied blade of a great-sword; its murderous approach coming to an abrupt halt as it bobbed lightly before Hawke's breast, keeping time with the heaving breaths of its wielder. Motionless and silent, her arms still stretched out before Dorian, Hawke held her ground, acting as a living wall between the former slave and the Tevinter magister. 

She could see the precise moment when reason returned to Fenris. When the creases at the corners of his eyes softened slightly and his gaze actually focused on her eyes instead of roving over his surroundings in search of his next target. His breath still coming in ragged gasps from between grinding teeth, Fenris blinked at last and dropped his sword to his side, turning from her without a word. 

Hawke struggled to not quake in her boots; to not think about how terrifying it was to be on the wrong end of that blade and that horrible, unforgiving wrath. With all of the composure she was capable of feigning, she stooped to retrieve her daggers from the ground at her feet and gave Dorian a barely perceptible nod before turning back to trail after Fenris. 

The words that had been flung at him haunted her. She knew that it had been her life that had been used to bring Fenris to a state of blind rage. Yet it confounded her; how could he expect her to accept what she could and could not save when one of his main fears was his inevitable inability to protect her? Wasn't his fear a mirror image of her own, to an extent? 

She wanted to catch him up and confront him on her revelation, yet the steady barrage of enemies prevented all but the most essential of conversation. Instead she allowed this apparent hypocrisy to fuel her anger. Anger was better than fear, in her opinion, and if she was driven on by anger there would be no room for the paralyzing horror that was a near constant presence in this place. 

Allowing her ire free range, when Stroud continued to push his arguments for the Grey Wardens' defense with subtle hints at their abuse or excuses for their actions, Hawke found herself lashing out at her friend. In what world was it acceptable to save one's own life by sacrificing the lives of others? Blood magic was bad enough, but to sacrifice your own comrades to save others? How did you weigh the value of one life above the value of another? The idea was abhorrent to her, and that Stroud was attempting to defend it was equally repulsive. 

And so she channeled her anger into her fighting, pushing down her fear until it was little more than an unpleasant twisting in the pit of her stomach when she encountered a horde of spiders, or when the thundering voice began its torment again. Her daggers crunched through spider abdomens, sliced spirits into vapor and dust and tore demons to rags, and all the while she seethed. 

She stewed. 

She- 

She forgot _everything_. 

The party had passed through a low tunnel and emerged on the other side to find a spider larger than the Chantry of Kirkwall waiting for them, and Hawke froze. When at last she remembered herself her mouth fell open in a silent scream as she scrabbled backwards, colliding with Cassandra in the process. The Seeker gave her a slight push forward with her shield while the spirit of the Divine launched an attack of her own against the enormous spider and the Nightmare; a creature which also bore terrifying characteristics of the spiders Hawke so detested. Reflexively Hawke pushed back at that shield, shying away from the embodiment of everything that terrified her, standing before them. Solid and real and waiting to bring her a most horrible death. 

 _No. No! Maker don't make me - please -_  

And Fenris was at her side, his lovely springtime eyes burning with the blue light of his lyrium markings as he watched her... appraised her... 

...turned his head towards the great arachnid and the demon... 

...and charged. 

The Inquisitor was the first into the battle, yet Fenris was not far off, striking out with unheard of strength at the Nightmare, bones within the creature cracking audibly, yet not without consequence. Without warning the Nightmare vanished, reappearing on the other side of the field, and leaving Fenris surrounded by a small throng of demon-spawn and wraiths. 

Varric's arrows showered down around Fenris for a moment, providing a little cover, yet it was not enough. Soon the dwarf had to refocus his own tactics to defend himself, leaving Fenris to battle his attackers alone. 

She could not leave him like that, Hawke knew, watching as he took attacks as frequently as he cut down minor foes. Gritted her teeth, Hawke slipped stealthily into the field and sliced the head from the nearest wraith embroiled against her lover with a quick scissoring motion of her blades. Gore splattered Fenris' cheeks and hair; black demon blood that mingled with the bright red mortal blood already smearing his features. 

"I'm not too late, am I?" She asked, feeling ashamed at having balked so badly from their battle. Of having thought so badly of him, even for such a short time, when she shared the same faults she judged him on. 

Surprisingly Fenris bestowed upon her a small, knowing smile. "I have waited longer for you," he admitted with a low voice that contrasted strangely with his battle-hardened appearance, and she wanted nothing more than to draw him into a lip-searing kiss at that moment. 

There would be time for that later, however. For now... 

Her daggers spun and sang in the humid air, and without thought for the smaller creatures Dorian was presently setting ablaze Hawke turned her sites on the Nightmare, finding it easy enough to cut into its strangely shelled flesh once she could pin it down and prevent it from popping out of range for a moment. Indeed, it was the creature's annoying habit of fleeing from their attacks that drew the fight out for so long, and the more it skulked away the more confident Hawke felt. 

Even though their party was falling as quickly as they could revive one another. 

Even though that horrible mansion-sized spider was looming overhead like a pale cloud of death waiting to descend. 

Even though those horrible little fearlings were bloodying her legs and hips as she disregarded them in favor of their master. 

She was confident because the Nightmare was fleeing from them. 

The Nightmare was afraid! 

Like Hawke, Stroud and Cassandra abandoned themselves to the task of striking down their primary nemesis; all caution for their own well being disregarded. Occasionally a voice from behind would call to one of them, and the summoned party member would turn to find a healing potion being lobbed at their head by one of the supporting members; a not-so-subtle hint that they should try to survive the battle as well. 

When it became physically too difficult for the two rouges to continue their direct affront against the Nightmare Fenris swept in easily, taking their place at the fore of the battle against the demon and inflicting massive damage where Hawke and the Inquisitor had not, but at the cost of losing his prey to its disappearing tricks more frequently. 

In the end Hawke could not tell if it had been Cassandra, Stroud or Fenris who had dealt the final blow, and it didn't matter. The Nightmare had fallen and, without pausing to allow the victors a chance to collect the spoils of their battle, the Inquisitor waived her followers towards the rift urgently - 

\- until the enormous spider dropped from above, dripping great torrents of blood, yet still powerful enough to crush any of them in its horrible maw. Already it was moving in for them, legs a thick as tree trunks moving independently of one another while those terrible pinchers clicked in anticipation of the next kill. 

They would never get through, Hawke knew. They had exhausted their healing supplies, and this monster was more likely to slay them all before they could bring it down. 

Someone was going to have to fight the beast; to distract this horror and cut a path for the others... 

...and likely die in the process. 

There was not even a second of hesitation for her. "Go." She commanded the others with more authority and confidence than she held felt in years. The Champion of Kirkwall once more stood in her boots. "I'll cover you." She dared not turn her eyes to Fenris - she could feel his gaze searing the skin from her back. 

At her side Stroud frowned and shook his head, speaking out before Fenris had opportunity. "No. You were right. The Grey Wardens caused this. A Warden must-" 

"A Warden must help them rebuild." Hawke interrupted without hesitation. "That's _your_ job. Corypheus is mine." This was Corypheus' pet; his weapon. If she could cut it down she would cripple her old foe. This was her responsibility - no one else.  

And the Grey Wardens had erred horribly, she knew, but they were redeemable. Redeemable and still necessary. She had to believe that. A lifetime of faith on her part, and the hope that her sister was still lucid and among their ranks, gave her grounds to believe. 

Of them all Hawke was the most expendable; not a Grey Warden, not a member of the Inquisition... and she could atone for her sins here. She could play her part in saving both orders by safeguarding their leaders. She would die fighting for a just cause. 

It seemed _right_. 

The Inquisitor stood with her back to the group, appraising the arachnid before them as Hawke prepared to draw her daggers and make good on her promise. She wondered briefly if she should turn and kiss Fenris goodbye or shatter a poison flask against his breastplate and demand Stroud and Varric drag the incapacitated elf from the Fade with them. He would likely not leave her willingly, she knew, and her fingers fluttered down to the vials at her hip; her decision made. 

"Stroud." The Inquisitor said softly and Hawke started. The Inquisitor had just sided with her friend - had just sentenced him to death. 

The Inquisitor had just spared her life. 

 _Why?_  

"Inquisitor," the Grey Warden intoned formally, "it has been an honor." 

With a fleeting glance at Hawke, her friend charged into battle, slicing into the underbelly of the monstrous spider while the others sped beneath its floundering legs, sprinting for the rift and hurtling themselves through with complete abandon. 

And at that precise moment Hawke didn't even bother to worry that the rift might not take them home. 

 

XXXX 

 

The rift within the fortress was closed. Adamant was secure, and the Grey Wardens would serve the Inquisition in the interim. Hawke would travel to Weisshaupt and inform the Warden headquarters of what had happened to their Orlesian comrades. In time a new Warden Commander would be named and the Grey Wardens currently under Inquisition command would be reclaimed by their order. With no further reason to remain behind, Hawke bade the Inquisitor to take care of Varric, though the brunette woman halted her before Hawke had made it more than a few steps. 

"I thought you would at least say goodbye to him." She called after the departing Champion, maintaining a neutral tone despite the insinuation Hawke felt in those words. "He's in the commanding tents, in the camp just outside the gates." 

There were plenty of reasons Hawke didn't want to say goodbye, but they were all cowardly and self serving. She hated goodbyes, having said or not said too many of them in her life already. And she had no way of knowing if or when she would see her dearest friend again. Yet she found herself shuffling out to those very tents anyway, poking her head in various openings until she at last set eyes on a beardless dwarf cleaning and oiling the various mechanisms on his massive crossbow. 

"Seems to me you give Bianca more of your attention than you do most people," Hawke murmured, and Varric lifted his eyes to her, his hands stilling on his weapon. 

"Not all of them," he replied and set Bianca aside, moving to stand before Hawke. "You're leaving, I take it?" 

"The Grey Wardens need to be told of what happened here." She replied with a nod. 

"Weisshaupt." Varric shook his head. The name alone said it all; a journey that long would likely see them separated for years. For a time silence stretched between them as the contemplated what this meant. At last Varric broke the silence, his voice low. 

"Hawke, you know why the Inquisitor didn't choose you, right?" She frowned, and Varric seemed to consider that answer enough. "It's because you still have people who need you. Not the Champion of Kirkwall. You. Hawke. You may not realize it, but there are people who honestly care whether or not Raina Hawke lives or dies. I know. I've got the list of people I've been asked to write letters to if we ever lose you. You remember that the next time you get it in your head to throw yourself on a sword. Got it?" 

Hawke found it difficult to swallow passed the lump lodged in her throat. Even when she tried to do what was right... 

No. No she couldn't wallow. She couldn't. She had promised. 

"I'll remember," she replied, forcing her voice to remain steady. 

"Good. Now get going. I've got contacts to set up in the Anderfels. Gotta keep an ear open for you somehow." The dwarf grinned and winked conspiratorially at her, and Hawke brightened slightly. 

"Take care of yourself, Varric." She murmured, turning to follow Fenris from the tent.

"Yeah. You too. Oh. And Broody?" Fenris turned, one brow arched elegantly above his eye as Varric smiled at the elf. "I'm glad she's got you out there." 

Fenris stood silent for a moment, as though uncertain what to make of Varric's statement, before nodding his acknowledgment. "Be safe, dwarf." And at those words, uttered low, and without any sort of foul temperament, Varric's brows lifted in surprise, before a crooked smile crept over his face; one that was barely echoed above a lyrium-engraved chin. 

And with nothing more to be said between them, Hawke and Fenris stepped out of Varric's tent; the darkness swallowing them up almost instantly. 

 

XXXXXXXX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that Fenris was never supposed to accompany Hawke through the events of DAI, but when the game came out, the events of DAI fit so well into the plot of the fic I've been working from forever that I HAD to incorporate it (which actually fleshed out what was to be short and uneventful beginning, in my opinion.) And because this fic can't exist without Fenris he just had to be added to the DAI events. Overall I'm satisfied with how this turned out. From here on out the fic will move away from actual gameplay. Hope you like it!


	6. Lessons Taught and Learned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke believes she has things figured out, but then her lover surprises her.
> 
> Yet the Champion of Kirkwall is not one to take surprise lightly, and when she is presented the opportunity, she decides it's time to teach Fenris a lesson of her own.
> 
> (Tags added for explicit sexual situations.)

 

 

## ACT SIX: LESSONS TAUGHT AND LEARNED

Hawke's eyes opened to find her gaze caught up by one of silver and flickering gold; moonlight and the small cook fire that still burned overpowering the peridot hues that were normally present. His expression was impossible to read, even in his eyes where his fierce emotions would often smolder. She was growing more accustomed to his quieter side, however, and regarded him casually as she pushed herself from her bedroll, rubbing grit from her cheek without thought. The desert sands at their campsite were as loose as the rest of the wastelands they had been trekking through for the past few days, and gave way through the blanket beneath her palms as she righted herself.

"How long has the sun been down?" She asked, observing that there was no hint of dusk in the night skies beyond her canvas leanto. The scout that Cullen had sent after them immediately following their departure from the Inquisition's camp had brought with her invaluable gifts: three Anderfel Coursers to carry them and their gear on their journey, and some parting advice. Harding had instructed them to travel through the Hissing Wastes at night, and only at night. Daytime brought the desert to unbearable temperatures, and it was best to make camp and sleep during those hours to avoid dehydration and heatstroke. While night travel would not relieve them of the arid conditions, the temperature dropped considerably once the sun fell, and the cloudless skies and open expanses helped to secure their nearly uneventful passage by moonlight.

Pulling her mind from the haze of sleep as her gaze sought out a reason for their delay, Hawke wondered how many hours Fenris had allowed her to waste when they could have been that much closer to their destination. Yet the man before her sat rooted just as he had been upon his own bedroll; watching her for a time with a thoughtful expression she could not place into any singular emotional state.

You truly would have stayed." He said softly, finally, as though responding to another conversation all together. It was oddly anticlimactic. For days after the events within the Fade had taken place Hawke had been waiting tensely for an outburst of some sort; bracing herself for some form of retaliation from Fenris for daring to risk herself as she had. She had not expected quiet conversation, and still doubted she would be lucky enough to escape the argument she believed to bee inevitable.

"Yes." She said simply, waiting for that familiar temper to explode forth. 

Yet Fenris' gaze moved from hers to the flames of the fire beside them, and still nothing of his expression betrayed what was taking place behind his eyes. 

"I had forgotten this part." He murmured slowly after a time, and Hawke tilted her head quizzically. None of what was happening made sense to her. 

"Which part might that be?" 

His eyes returned to hers. "The part of the Champion of Kirkwall's persona which places the lives of all others above her own." Hawke remained silent, unsure of how she was supposed to take that statement. Yet as she tried to decipher the meaning behind his words Fenris rose, circled the cook fire to stand before her, and pulled her into his arms; those previously unreadable eyes now achingly expressive. "Promise me you won't die," he murmured, his bare fingers lifting to press against her ear; his lips so close to hers she could feel the humidity of his breath against her skin. "I can't bear the thought of living without you."

Hawke gaped, stunned into momentary silence and immobility as she became aware that she was not to suffer his wrath. The way his hands tenderly held her face and his mouth hovered so near to hers told her that she had been forgiven - though she could not understand by what reasoning.

Not until a closer look told her everything.

Where she had just moments ago been unable to fathom what he was experiencing, now Hawke could read his heart plainly; affection, worry, desperation and resolution swirled in his eyes like oil upon water; the prospect of what he may do to safeguard her the next time she faced down death was suddenly very real to her and not something she wished to contemplate. She could not lose this man, who had believed in her even when she had lost her way and given him no indication she would ever return.

"I don't make that promise unless you do." She replied her voice slightly tremulous though she had tried to maintain her composure, and there in the clenching of his jaw and the flaring of his nostrils she saw the return of the heat she had witnessed so many weeks ago within that storm-swept inn; her insides coiling tightly at the promise that suddenly loomed before her.

"Nothing is going to keep me from you." He swore fervently, an echo of the promise he had made that night, and sealed his mouth to hers at last. Once more Hawke surrendered to the power of his kiss, her arms absently wrapping around his back as his fingers tipped her head slightly so that he could sweep his tongue against hers. His touch against her skin remained surprisingly gentle, his lips slow and sweet against her mouth despite the growled oath that had just rumbled from his chest. Fingertips trailed from her cheekbones over her jawline and down to her throat, where he tipped her chin back with his thumbs to deepen the kiss further.

For weeks he had held himself at a distance from her; or so it had felt. While she had approached him for stolen kisses and tender caresses in rare moments of semi-seclusion, he had never been the one to seek out her affections without invitation... until now. Now the damp trails left by Fenris' lips along her jawline and neck tingled in the cooling air, while his hands practically burned against the bare flesh of her flanks as he slid his fingers beneath her armor and clothing.

She had not realized how terrible this time away from his touch had been; how desperately she had craved this man. It had gnawed at her, the emptiness that his restraint had left within her, and greedily she clung to him, releasing the catch of his breastplate so that her own fingers could ruck up his tunic to explore his naked skin.

"Yes," she hissed when her leather armor was stripped from her body and the collar of her shirt was pulled aside so that Fenris could gently bite at the juncture of her neck. "Maker, how I missed this." 

The tender play of teeth and lips against her skin halted and those starlight-dyed eyes returned to her, along with the fingers against her cheekbone.

"Forgive me," he murmured, "I did not feel it was prudent to press you for more too quickly. You are... not like anyone I have ever been with before." 

Hawke's eyebrow arched, and she tried to effect a playful smirk despite her agitation. "You mean I'm no Isabela." 

The pale lips before her own quirked in response. It had been common knowledge within their group that Fenris and Isabela had been lovers briefly, though neither had ever claimed to hold an emotional attachment for the other.

"That is not a derogatory comment I assure you," he clarified, his mirth faded. "You are not one who simply seeks out carnal pleasures. I did not want to offend, or cause you to believe that is all that I desire from you. You will never again have to fear being used by love. Of that you have my word."

Hawke sobered. "Are you... are you telling me that you're in love with me, Fenris?"

Dark fingers striped with silver gently pushed a lock of hair from her forehead, and his lips quirked again if only for a moment. "I tell you that you are my soul and still you do not see the truth?" He asked with quiet incredulity. "Then allow me to make it clearer. You have my heart, Raina, and my love. And for as long as you will have me, I am yours."

Her breath caught at his confession. She had known for years that he cared for her; that he held her as a dear friend and a confidant - titles she understood to be more than an honor from a man so hesitant to trust. And recently she had even accepted that he had harbored some form off attraction or romantic feelings for her for several years. But love? She had not allowed herself to consider that option, and in their discussions since that first night they had never put such a strong and binding word to what was developing between them.

Yet hearing his gentle mocking now, she could see how she had blinded herself to the truth. And with that a self-deprecating smile formed upon her own lips. "Then, if it's all the same to you, I think I'll have you for the rest of my life. I certainly can't see giving my heart to another man after you took such great care in claiming it for yourself."

Fenris' lips twitched smugly. "Good. I would hate to have to rip the heart from the next man who tried to place himself between us." Hawke's chuckle was immediate.

"You wouldn't hate it." She teased, and felt her face flush anew when his lips ghosted against hers.

"You're right." He admitted huskily through the dusting of kisses. "I wouldn't." 

Hawke was denied the opportunity for further retort by the sweep of Fenris' tongue against her upper lip, which she greedily accepted, her eyes slipping closed at the sensation of its moist heat within her mouth. Further down the buttons of her shirt were being carefully unfastened by tattooed fingers before the garment was slipped from her shoulders; her chest bindings following. He was taking his time with her she felt - moving slowly - and she savored the anticipation that quickened her blood and sensitized her skin.

With equal care, Hawke found the hooks and eyes of his tunic and began the task of opening them, allowing her fingers to trail against the skin beneath, still overly-heated even in the cool night air, and around his lips she sighed.

"You're always so warm," she purred appreciatively, placing a palm to the flesh that was accessible through his tunic while her other hand freed the final fasteners. Moving more quickly than he had when tending to her, Fenris stripped the garment from his body before pressing his skin to hers.

"I confessed to you before that I burn for your touch," he murmured, lowering his face to her collarbone. "Perhaps I should teach you Arcanum so you will understand?" 

Hawke's head rolled back when open-mouth kisses trailed across her skin, gradually dipping lower towards her breasts. With gentle hands he guided her back down to her bedroll; the act not breaking his attention his mouth was paying her at present. "Teach me now." She moaned. "How do you say 'I love your kiss'?"

His tongue swirled vigorously once around her nipple before the sensitive tip disappeared between his lips with a small suckling sound, and Hawke's breath pulled from her in a quiver at the play of his talented mouth.

"Ego diligo vestri osculum." He replied against her flesh. She groaned, threading her fingers into his hair as he demonstrated the act she so appreciated. 

"How do you say "your voice is alluring'?"

His head lifted from her breast unexpectedly; an elongated ear nestled against her cheek as Fenris' lips brushed the rounded shell of her own ear, hot breath setting the skin there ablaze. "Vox tua sicut amorosam." He purred purposefully from deep within his throat, and her eyes rolled back behind their lids at a voice that reminded her of molten lava: slow, deep thickness which she could never physically feel, yet found herself set afire by its very presence. Beside her his head shifted so he might kiss the delicate skin behind her ear, and a strangled moan was wrenched from her chest.

"How-" her voice broke when his hands dipped lower to caress her core through her trousers, "how do you say 'I need you'?" Silver eyes peered down at her as he held himself above her, his eyes flickering over her chest, lips, and eyes intently. 

"Ego postulo vos."

With reverent fingers she reached up to cup his cheeks, her thumbs stroking his face tenderly as she guided him down to her.

"How do you say 'I love you'?"

His face lowered; his mouth hovering so near to hers that their lips brushed when he replied. "Ego diligo vos." His voice was a worshipful whisper against her skin, and it was clear to her Fenris was not just parroting words she asked for. He meant them.

"Ego diligo vos," she repeated slowly, her tongue yet unable to apply the same fluid roll to the words that Fenris adapted so easily. "Ego diligo vos, Fenris."

Hungry lips returned to her own as the weight of his body bore down upon hers; taught muscle and searing skin pressing her deeper into the sands beneath her bedding. Without removing herself from their kiss Hawke pried her hands in between their bodies and began to work the laces of his leggings free; Fenris rising up fractionally to allow her clearer access. With her boots having been removed before dozing off, Hawke was able to strip his leggings and smalls clear of his ankles with her toes; her hands already caressing the naked backside and thighs her efforts had exposed.

Shifting slightly so that he could bear his weight with just one arm, Fenris assisted Hawke in removing her own trousers and small clothes, kicking them away as his had been before pressing his body once more to hers; his fingers already trailing down to her center to trace slow lines within the soft folds there.

"I have dreamt of how you felt that night," he admitted, his fingers pushing into her wet heat, causing her to moan and buck up into his hand eagerly. "How glorious it was to lose myself within you; with you. I have never before felt what I experienced with you."

His slender digits pulled from her channel, drenched with her nectar, to circle the bead crowning her sex slowly, and Hawke's breath hitched as she tried to respond. "Fenris, I - _oh Maker_ \- no one has ever made me feel the way you do... what you do to me..."

Her words died off in a moan that Fenris bent to drink in greedily; his lips as demanding as her own need.

That was the difference between Fenris and Anders, she knew. Anders' touch on her body had always been gentle, tentative, as though he was handling the finest piece of porcelain. She had loved it at the time, yet had possessed no basis for comparison.

Fenris, however - while equally careful and attentive - bore none of the same hesitance. His touch reverberated through her skin, vibrating her being; daring her to shatter so that he might build her back up, only to shatter her again.

Because she was anything but weak. Because he knew that she was strong enough withstand it.

The fevered skin at her side shifted then, taking the fingers at her core with it, and Hawke whimpered for their absence, reaching for him plaintively until the sound of ripping fabric met her ears. Above her head Fenris had taken her blouse in his hands and was tearing a long, thin strip from the bottom hem. Hawke frowned, pushing herself up as she watched him destroy the garment.

"Fenris, what-"

"I need you to understand what you mean to me," the man turned, the impromptu sash clutched in his grasp, "what you are to me." With great care he placed the fabric in her hands before pressing his wrists together before her. "Bind me."

Her stomach dropped. "What? I - no. No, Fenris." The idea confused and sickened her. She would not to that to him. She knew too much of what he had suffered at Danarius' hands during his time as a slave, and this came too close to those events, which had never ended well for her lover. If he found her comparable to that-

Yet Fenris did not falter. "You misunderstand. I give that to you not to give you power over me. You already hold more power over me than this fabric could ever secure you. I wish only to banish the shadows of my past and begin anew." He leaned in and kissed her slowly, sweetly, before presenting his wrists to her once more. "With you. Please, Raina. Let me surrender to your will and know that there is nothing to fear."

If he had tried to argue for this for the thrill of sensual pleasures or play - any reason other than the one he had given her - she would have refused. Yet he was asking for something that was more than just physical.

With careful movements, Hawke reached out and took the silken sash from his fingers, the ends of the red fabric dropping to her thighs. Taking hold of his hands within hers, she first lifted them to her lips, placing tender kisses at his pulse points before pressing them together and wrapping the scarlet fabric around his wrists, trapping them to one another.

"If this becomes too much," she nearly whispered, "tell me to stop and I will. I promise." With a final small jerk she secured the knot that held his arms in place, watching as he stretched them over his head and lowered his back to the bedroll.

It was so strange, seeing him bound and prone before her. While it was true that the thin red sash would not restrain him for long if he put his mind to freeing himself, watching this man surrender to her in a way he would have fought anyone else to the death for tugged a her insides.

She would be worthy of this. She would make certain he would not regret this.

Lowering herself to him, Hawke began with slow, wet kisses along his throat and jaw - the kind she remembered him enjoying so much before - as her fingers wound into his hair, scratching at his scalp and tracing the edges of his ears lightly. As she kissed him she allowed her hands to slide lower, massaging sensitive places while they traveled, and suddenly she recalled something Anders had taught her. Her first reaction was to discard the idea as one her lover would not appreciate, and yet Fenris himself had said he wanted to submit to her will.

And her will was to leave him writhing in such ecstasy he would never forget this night.

Without allowing herself further time to convince herself this was a bad idea, Hawke scooted down between Fenris' knees, lifting and spreading them so she could position her face near his erection, which was already swelling against his stomach. With her belly pressed to the bedroll and her knees and shins resting in the cool sand she caught his gaze with hers and held it intently as she inserted a finger into her mouth, rolling her tongue around the digit for him to see. Above her Fenris' jaw clenched, his eyes darkening with want, though he said nothing.

Removing her saliva coated finger from her mouth, Hawke pressed it to his puckered entrance, massaging the skin there cautiously, long enough to give him opportunity to refuse her. When he didn't she gently pushed the digit passed the entrance. His breath drew in with a sharp hiss, and his shoulders flexed as though uncomfortable, yet still he did not speak. She knew he had known penetration before, though not so gently, and worried that perhaps he was slipping into old habits - something she would not stand for.

"Please," she whispered, "don't close off to me. Tell me what you're feeling."

Above her Fenris frowned slightly. "I... Have you experience with this?"

Hawke turned her hand palm up, twisting her finger within him and crooking the digit slightly, stroking his walls until she was rewarded with a guttural gasp and the sight of Fenris' back arching from the bedding.

"Some." She replied. "Shall I continue?" Fenris swallowed hard and schooled his features as he nodded, resting his head back when she returned to the soft flesh against her finger.

With one hand occupied, Hawke turned her free hand to the stiffening erection beneath her chin, taking hold of its base so she could envelope it within her mouth and throat with one fluid delve; a low cry breaking from the elf's throat. From beyond her lids she witnessed the bulge in Fenris' biceps as he strained lightly against his bindings, though not so much that they failed, his eyes trained on her, shimmering with a desperate hunger.

With careful fingers Hawke continued to work his shaft and channel in tandem, stroking his hyper-sensitive inner-walls each time she swallowed his length; her other hand alternating between massaging the base of his manhood and cupping the sack beneath her chin. She had not performed this act in years, and yet Fenris' body seemed attuned to her; responding to her intent eagerly, though she might feel she was still clumsy in her attempts.

The panting above her head became labored, vocal; the muscular thighs on either side of her head opening wider and flexing as she worked him thoroughly from within and without, though never once did he rise to meet her. Her own sex quivered deliciously at the sounds he emitted, and she pressed her thighs together, rubbing her legs against one another while wishing for sweet friction, yet refusing to abandon any of the attentions she currently paid the gorgeous creature before her. At times she could feel his entrance tighten around her finger, and in response she would hum softly when she took his member into her throat, soothing and exciting him at once. Taking advantage of his restraint, Hawke dared to also play her teeth gently along his shaft as her tongue pressed against the veins that ran the length of him, clenching her throat tightly against his head right to the cusp off her gag reflex. There was no fear of him pushing her off roughly now, which could cause damage to both of them give her current actions.

No string off Tevinter-born profanities or utterances escaped Fenris' lips, yet he was by no means silent. That voice - usually so deep and controlled - now rose in pitch within his throat with every forced exhalation. And when Hawke inserted her second finger into his opening and applied additional pressure to that place within him that had sent him keening, she was rewarded with the deep, needful cry she had been waiting for, repeating her careful stroking again and again -

-until that one word was stammered hoarsely from between dry lips. "S-stop..."

Her heart tripped and as quickly as she could without causing him injury, Hawke pulled her fingers from his body and removed her mouth from the sword-straight member she had so covetously been suckling; her gaze trained to him nervously, noting how his eyes were sealed tight and his entire body was rigid enough to shatter.

When he did not move or speak for a moment her concern compounded. "Fenris?" Her whisper was tentative, her hand lifted, wanting so badly to touch him - to reassure him - yet doubting herself.

"Maker preserve me," he swore softly at last, his gaze filled with unshielded wonder when it came to rest upon her, "that was... I cannot think of a suitable word."

Hawke blinked, unprepared for what she had just heard. "You're alright?" She asked dubiously.

"Better than," he murmured, "you quite nearly unraveled me just now."

Realizing she had worried for nothing, Hawke felt slightly put out at being denied the delicious reactions she had been coaxing from her lover, though relief that she had not disturbed him quelled her annoyance almost immediately. "Then why stop me?"

The man before her squirmed upon his back, trying to lift himself but finding the current position of his arms rendering it impossible. Resigned he instead lifted his hips slightly, the movement causing his manhood to sway above its dark nest. "When I lose myself I wish it to be while following you in your decent into ecstasy." At that Hawke smiled at last.

"Ah, but that's not our arrangement," she chided playfully, allowing her fingers to trail up the underside of his shaft with feather-soft contact, "you are supposed to submit to my will, remember? What if it is my will to drink you dry?"

To her surprise Fenris appeared properly abashed. "Forgive me. If that is what you desire-"

"What I desire," Hawke interrupted, slowly crawling over his naked body with predatory intent, "is to see you come undone by my touch." Rising to her knees over him and tucking her legs beneath his upturned knees, she reached between her thighs and took hold of his shaft. "How I choose to touch you to that end makes no difference."

She delighted at the expression of unbridled lust upon his features as she slowly impaled herself upon him; his length stretching her, filling her, and pulling a ragged gasp into her lungs. Tentatively she rolled her hips, pressing her bead against his base and was rewarded with an electric jolt that shot from her apex down to her toes and up her spine.

"Maker, Fenris," she breathed, placing her palms against the flat panels of his stomach, caressing the skin beneath her hands as she continued to grind against his erection, "you are magnificent."

Tattooed arms crooked above his head as Fenris brought his wrists to his hair, clearly regretting that he could not hold her, guide her, drive her onto him. "Raina-" his voice was a croak in the hollow of his throat, and above him Hawke smiled in her victory. She felt empowered. This powerful creature had give control over to her completely, was trusting her to wield that power without regret.

And at last she knew - she _knew_ \- that he was strong enough to withstand it.

"How shall I take you, Fenris?" She murmured, lifting slowly so that he slid from her body; her womanhood aching at the loss of him before she lowered herself back to claim his length with an equally maddening patience, delighting in the way his head rolled back and exposed the gleaming length of his gorgeous throat to the sky above. "Shall I make you beg for more?"

A wicked smile slid across her features then, and without giving him warning her hips snapped rapidly, rising and crashing down upon him with near brutal force; his swollen head striking at the entrance to her womb and finding that place within her that could leave her seeing stars behind her lids. Beneath her Fenris gave a strangled cry; one of the horses nickering nervously beyond their shelter in response. "Or shall I make you beg for mercy?"

Not allowing him time to respond, Hawke dropped her torso over his, her heavy breasts swaying between them; nipples dragging against the scalding heat of his body as they moved, and Hawke licked his lower lip once before claiming his mouth in a devouring kiss.

"How shall I take you, Fenris?" She growled when the kiss ended, her inner walls twitching and tightening around his length. Beneath her, her lover strained to reach her lips once more; struggled to push his shoulders up from the bedroll. "Beg for more? Or beg for mercy?"

"Mercy," he panted at last, his pupils so large they all but consumed the gorgeous irises surrounding them, "I choose mercy." Granting him one slow, gentle kiss, Hawke rested her cheek to his, giving his lobe a lingering lick as well before breathing her response into the angular shell.

"As you wish."

Pushing herself up from his chest, Hawke held herself straight above him and began to ride him hard; taking his length faster than she had during their first encounter. Her breasts bounced against her chest as she moved, and between her thighs she could feel Fenris moving with her; his hips rising to meet her every decent. He strained to hold his head up as he moved beneath her; his hands fisting and opening above his head spasmodically, his jaw clenched and teeth bared as he growled, before tossing his head back and gripping his own hair forcibly; her name pouring from his lips in between grunted cries.

Hawke's hands shifted to Fenris' bent knees, which she used as leverage to ride him that much faster, that much harder, her own desperate pants ripping from her chest as she threw her head back and lost herself to all but feeling of the man beneath and inside her. Beneath her rear the sculpted hips became frantic, frenzied; Hawke finding herself riding the ledge between pleasure and pain as she took him into her.

Yet before the pain even became a consideration, roiling waves of tingling heat crested within her belly and Hawke felt herself began to slip over the edge with Fenris' name dragging out in length from her lips.

The man beneath her roared and his hips rose to meet her forcibly; his release driving her into her own, and around her the darkened surroundings faded to pitch black as her senses failed her and she fell mindlessly into an explosive climax.

When the last of his thrusts had ebbed and his hips stilled Hawke allowed herself to collapse to his chest, forcing a light grunt from his lungs as they heaved their exertion into the cool night air. After a moment Fenris' arms began to twist over their heads, his elbows bending before he finally relented.

"Raina," he wheezed beneath her, "my hands?"

Chuckling breathlessly, Hawke moved only enough to reach her fingers to his wrists, untying the knot that held him and unraveling the fabric to free his arms; which he then wrapped around her shoulders possessively.

They were silent for a time, with Hawke listening blissfully to the sound of Fenris' hammering heart as it slowly found a proper rhythm again.

"I suppose we've lost our opportunity for travel tonight," he murmured at last, and against his feverish skin she smiled.

"I suppose you're right."

"I do not regret it." He admitted and Hawke lifted her head to gaze up into his eyes.

"I'm glad." She said simply and noted the way his pale lips smirked slyly above his chin's lyrium etchings.

"You failed in your objective, I might add," he said smugly and her brow arched in silent question. "You'll note that I did not once beg."

"Oh I don't know about that," she replied, pushing herself up carefully so that she could sit straight and peer down at him. "There are more ways to beg than with words." Her fingers dragged lightly against his hips. "These for example." Next her fingers skimmed the softening length of his manhood, and Fenris hissed in response. "And this," she added. "They seemed to ask for a great deal." Smiling conspiratorially, her lover lifted himself to sit beside her.

"No more than you were capable of providing," he pointed out, before reaching for the sash behind him. Curious, Hawke watched as he carefully twined the red fabric length around his wrist before tying it off with the help of his teeth. "A memento," he explained in response to Hawke's silent question. "That not all who bind us to them do so with malice." His fingers then rose to trace the line of her cheek. "Thank you, Raina, for teaching me this."

"Thank you, Fenris," she replied quietly, leaning in so that she might place a reverent kiss upon his lips, "for allowing me to do so."

 

XXXX

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have read some truly amazing f!Hawke/Fenris fics out there, but one thing seems fairly consistent – Fenris is almost always in control. (I'm sure there are submissive Fenris stories out there, but unfortunately I've not had the pleasure of reading them yet.)
> 
> Instead, I decided to write one. Because I think that Fenris can surrender control and remain in canon in the right circumstances – and I hope that I've captured such a situation here.
> 
> At the very least, here is your daily dose of citrus. ;)


	7. Lines Crossed and Severed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Champion of Kirkwall has returned and, like before, finds herself receiving pleas for assistance from the strangest patrons. Yet with the latest request comes complications Hawke had not anticipated.
> 
> The conscience of the Champion is a heavy burden to bear...

## ACT SEVEN: LINES CROSSED AND SEVERED

 

"Word for you, ser."

 Hawke spun, lines of consternation furrowing her brow. Beside her an Inquisition scout stood at the ready; a message bearing a white wax seal pinched between the woman's fingers. Hawke’s mind grappled for an explanation; after a taxing journey through the wastes she and Fenris had made an impromptu stop at the Inquisition encampment where they now stood to restock their provisions before setting out for the Imperial Highway. She could not fathom how someone had known they would arrive at this camp, let alone early enough to send a messenger after them.

 "A letter for me?" Hawke clarified, her eyes narrowing uncertainly. "Are you certain?"

 "Yes ser." The scout nodded. "I was told the Champion of Kirkwall and her companion would be passing through here, and when they did my orders were to deliver this."

 Hawke's slight frown deepened into a mistrustful scowl; clearly she and Fenris had been followed. "By whose command?" She demand - a little brusquely considering the Inquisition had been nothing short of supportive to the pair thus far. Yet this would not the first time the Champion would have found herself manipulated by those she believed to be her allies, and still it never ceased to rattle her.

"Spymaster Leliana's, ser."

"Spymaster," the word escaped Hawke's pursed lips as though an obscenity. Though Hawke had never met the woman directly, Varric had mentioned her as being one that, as he had worded it, scared the piss out of him. As the Inquisition's Spymaster, it was her duty to know everything about persons deemed 'of interest' to their cause, be they ally or enemy, and from what Varric had said the woman was _very_ good at her job. Without asking for further details, Hawke took up the message and turned to lock eyes with Fenris briefly, "I might have known. Thank you, soldier. Do you have a private place where I can read this?"

The scout pointed to a brown canvas structure at Hawke's back. "The tent just there is open. You're welcome to it until a ranking officer arrives."

Hawke nodded and strode to the unoccupied tent, removing her striker from her pouch and lighting the candle upon the small table as Fenris closed the flaps. The heavy canvas blocked out most of the sunlight, resulting in a noticeably cooler environment within.

It wasn’t complete privacy, as their voices could carry through the canvas walls as easily as if they still stood outside, but at least they were hidden from prying eyes. "It would appear the Inquisition is not yet done with you," Fenris growled as he laid a cutting gaze upon the missive in her grasp, and Hawke gave a slightly contrary shake of her head.

"No." she murmured with quiet surprise, inspecting the letter in the candlelight, "The seal is blank. This didn't come from Varric or the Inquisition. Neither would have cause to send a secretive message to an Inquisition camp."

"I see. Then word has traveled more quickly than I had anticipated." She could almost hear the corners of his mouth dropdisparagingly. The warrior had made it perfectly clear on multiple occasions that he viewed anyone intent on using her as outright threats, and the level of secrecy involved in their current situation was undoubtedly setting his teeth on edge.

 Hawke cracked the wax carefully. "Oh? What word is that?"

"That the Champion of Kirkwall’s bladesare once more for hire." Hawke lifted her gaze, her brows arched at the contempt which laid thick in his words.

Fenris was right, of course, and inwardly Hawke bemoaned the end of their peace. While her cooperation with the Inquisition had been as much to settle a personal score as it had been a service to the greater good, that would not be how the world would see it. She would have returned to public service, in the eyes of Thedas. Hawke could already envision the requests she could expect. People desperately searching for lost lovers; mage factions calling on her sympathies; long lost treasures begging to be claimed by folk too oily to try themselves, with one such character coming to mind instantly, causing Hawke to cringe as she unfolded the parchment.

"I swear if this is from Hubert I'm changing my name t-"

The words died upon her lips as she laid eyes upon the swirling script.

It couldn't be...

The barest sound of movement rustled; a telltale that Fenris was now standing at her back. The heat of his proximity was palpable even here in the desert, making the skin along her spine tingle deliciously despite their presently shared frame of mind. "What do they ask?” It was a low, menacing growl; that of a mabari which sensed danger close by.

"I don't know," she muttered, "I haven't read it yet. Only the signature."

Eyes narrowed, Fenris turned his attention to the message, placing a hand over hers to tilt the script towards himself. Then his rich baritone quietly filled her ears as he began to read with careful practice.

_'Greetings, Ser Hawke,_

_I hope this letter finds you well._

_I've heard from a friend and former companion of mine that you recently accompanied ranking members of the Inquisition, as well as a Grey Warden, into the Fade; and while there you offered to remain behind for the sake of your fellows and Thedas. Though in the end the Warden took the task you had volunteered for, your willingness to make such a selfless decision has still earned the gratitude of an order._

_I wish that this message could be just a letter of thanks, but I'm afraid that in contacting you I have an agenda of my own._

_I'll get straight to the point. No man or woman should be sentenced to death for choosing to do what is right. I am asking for your help in putting a stop to just such an injustice._

_If you are open to what I have to say, please meet me in two weeks at Madame Mazamet's Inn in Ghislain. We will discuss the details there, and you can then decide if you are willing to help._

_If you choose not to come please know that I wish you all of the best in life, regardless._

_In Your Debt,_

_Valeria Therin, Warden Commander of the Grey Wardens; Ferelden Order'_

Fenris' fingers slid gently from Hawke's hand at the end, and she turned to him with a half-hearted smile upon her lips; close enough to his own to lean in and taste him if she chose.

"I'm glad to see you've kept up with your reading practice."

"Warden Commander, indeed," Fenris muttered, ignoring the compliment, "you have been summoned by a queen."

"I don't believe she's acting in that capacity, though," Hawke mused, "otherwise we'd find ourselves with a more distinguished rendezvous point. I believe in this she is acting as the title she used; a Grey Warden."

Fenris' eyes narrowed skeptically. "Perhaps. But to what end?"

"From the sound of this letter, she may be trying to prevent future Callings." No doubt it would be nothing so simple as an errand, she mused if only to herself, and she found quickly enough that she was not the only one to reach such a conclusion.

"I am not certain that this is a matter we should be involving ourselves with, Hawke," Fenris murmured, his dubiousness creeping visibly across his bronze features; eyes narrowing on her intently. "Were this a task she felt you would not question, she would have detailed it in her letter. That she is asking you to come to her for the explanation can mean only that she wishes the opportunity to argue its necessity when you refuse her request."

"Undoubtedly." Hawke agreed without hesitation, which seemed to momentarily take Fenris aback. "But that's exactly why we're going Ghislain." Folding the summons into her belt pouch, Hawke experienced a slight twinge of excitement at the prospect of meeting the Grey Warden who slew an archdemon and ended the last Blight. "We need to hear the Hero of Ferelden out. After what she has done she deserves no less than that."

 

XXXX

 

Ghislain was gaudy, Hawke decided, right down to the stables at the city gates where they had penned their horses. With buildings painted every color imaginable, a multitude of colognes mixing sickeningly in the air, and inhabitants conducting their daily business while wearing all manner of extravagant masks and finery fit for a ball, Hawke found herself actually missing the simplicity of Kirkwall. Even the women of the Rose had known more restraint with their perfume and baubles. She heard in passing conversations that Val Reauoix was even more extravagant and counted herself grateful she had not been asked to travel there instead.

Worse were the way some of the women - and more than a few men - gaped at Fenris openly, and with clear interest that Hawke found irritating in the extreme. Fenris had always possessed an exotic air with his pale hair and strange tattoos, yet here he bore a stark contrast to the brightly clothed, pale skinned denizens of Orlais. He was a rare delicacy in this country of gluttony, and more than a few let it be known through inviting stares and subtle gestures that they wished a taste.

Desiring nothing more in that moment than to be away from this city, Hawke focused on her primary concern; locating the inn mentioned in the Grey Warden's letter. After several inquiries with local merchants, and having her pronunciation of the proprietor's name corrected haughtily by one masked woman, Hawke was grateful to finally locate Madame Mazemet's Inn; a building painted a nauseating shade of orange with perfectly aged bronze window casings decorating every wall face. Inside, the stone floors were plain but heavily polished, the tapestries and draperies that dripped from the walls were older but well-tended, and the smell of roasting meet overruled the cloying scent of perfume that filled the streets; a notable improvement to the city outside, she felt.

Before Hawke could seek out help from the barkeep a plump woman wearing a gown of purple satin and a simple silver mask which covered her eyes alone approached them; her cheeks dimpled in what appeared to be an honest, gracious smile.

"Greetings weary travelers!" She trilled through her thick Orlesian accent, spreading her arms wide. "Welcome to Madame Mazemet's. I am your hostess, Jacqueline Mazemet. How may this house serve you?"

Hawke's brow lifted uncertainly, yet she effected a slight smile none the less. The woman, while a bit theatrical, seemed a great deal more personable than many of the people she and Fenris had encountered in this city so far, and Hawke decided she would be grateful even if it was simply an act. "Good day, Madame. My companion and I were asked to meet a friend here. We appear to be early, however, and would like to rent a room if you have one."

Unexpectedly the eyes behind the mask lit brightly, the eccentric woman’s gaze darting from Hawke to Fenris and then back again. "Ah! You would be Hawke then, yes? Your room has already been purchased." The woman bowed gently at the waist and extended an arm elegantly towards the stairs. "If you would, it is just this way."

"Convenient." Fenris muttered at Hawke's side, and she cast him a discreet look begging for his silence as they followed Madame up the ornately carved stairs to a room at the very back of the inn.

"Our finest suite," their hostess twittered, opening the door with a grand sweep of her arm. Beyond, it truly was a lavish room - perhaps the jewel of her inn. Silk dripped from the bed in rolling flows that practically cried out to Hawke to bury herself in their softness. Plush rugs, thickly cushioned chairs and sofa, and fat pillows patterned the room, inviting any who entered into their comfort. The fireplace was small, but it was carved from polished stone, and in contrast with the general theme of the city, the walls were painted the softest grey, with upholstery and linens of similar hues. At the far side of the room an ornate screen hid a large copper bathtub which stood upon four clawed feet.

At last Hawke found something redeemable in this city that had so far done nothing to impress her.

"It's lovely, Madame," Hawke smiled, gazing at the tub longingly. Madame Mazemet smiled.

"I will have my lad bring up hot water for your bath, yes?" She said and then smiled at Fenris. "Monsieur is welcome to a meal downstairs while the lady bathes. The meals are complimentary with the room." Fenris’ eyes narrowed, yet Hawke’s silent plea caused his response to be delayed in coming, and when it did it was with a more civil tongue.

"Thank you, but I will remain here."

"Of course," the Orlesian woman replied smoothly, her smile just as bright. "Then I shall take my leave. My lad will be up shortly to see after your bath. Should you need anything, please do come see me."

When the heavy wooden door closed behind them Hawke began unburdening herself of her gear, smiling with eager anticipation at Fenris whilehoping that the Warden Commander would be just late enough for her to have her first proper bath since Skyhold.

 

XXXX

 

Hours later, with her skin blessedly free of sand and sweat, her clothes laundered, and her belly full of ram roast and vegetable stew, Hawke was fairly certain she was developing a deep appreciation of Madame and her hospitality. Their hostess had even managed to procure a bottle of Aggregio for Fenris when Hawke had asked if her selection included it, though it had not arrived until well after their evening meal.

Hawke had crowned the evening's bliss by convincing Fenris to read from one of her favorite serials, his voice low and soft in its narrative. Her lids drooped as she nestled back against his chest; his graceful form stretched languidly behind her upon the sofa as his legs entwined intimately with hers.

She would have been perfectly content to never move from that place again.

Until the knock at the door dragged a groan from her chest and pushed her reluctantly to her feet. Waiting only long enough for Hawke to call out an invitation to enter, Madame bustled into the suite; energetic, pleasant and perfectly put together despite the late hour. "Good evening. Forgive my intrusion, but your guest has arrived."

With another of her flowing gestures, the proprietor opened the door wide and stepped back, allowing a cloaked and hooded figure to emerge from the shadowed corridor beyond before taking her leave discreetly. Entering the room, their visitor removed her hood, revealing strawberry hair pulled back in a braid that hung down behind her shoulders and bright green eyes that scanned the room before the woman's lips quirked in amusement. "Leliana was right - this room is perfect!"

Hawke frowned slightly, and at her side the softness that had only moments ago been present in Fenris' features was now hidden behind a steel veil of mistrust. Immediately Hawke stepped forward, knowing that she could not appear hesitant in this meeting. "Warden Commander Valeria, I presume?"

"Valeria, please," the woman gave her heada small shake, snapping herself back to attention, and unclasped her cloak with one hand while extending the other in greeting. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Ser Hawke."

"Likewise," Hawke admitted, taking up the proffered hand firmly. "I must admit, you're not at all what I pictured the Hero of Ferelden would be like."

Valeria chuckled lightly. "You were expecting someone a little more imposing, I assume?" She snorted a small laugh and Hawke tried not to gape at the undignified display."You've met Alistair. You should know we're not exactly a conventional pair."

"The Maker be praised for small miracles," Hawke breathed; the accolade earning a wide grin from the woman before her asHawke gestured to the man at her side. "Forgive me. This ismy companion, Fenris."

"A pleasure, Fenris," Valeria smiled, extending a hand to him as well without hesitation. Fenris hesitated before granting her only a brief nod of his head; his posture curved ever-so-slightly and ready to spring into action the moment he deemed it necessary. Before Hawke could excuse his manners, though, the woman before them straightened.

"Yes, you're right." The Grey Warden admitted, tipping her head to the elf as though having caught on to some hidden message as she squared her shoulders; her voice hardening into something of the legendary figure Hawke had expected. "Please forgive me. I did not invite you here for idle chatter.

"Tell me, Ser Hawke," the woman began, casually settling her rump upon the table beside her, "what do you know of the Calling?"

 

XXXX

 

The Champion of Kirkwall sat motionless upon the couch, her elbows perched upon her knees while she continued to watch Valeria as though the woman seated before her was still speaking, though the Warden Commander had been silent for several minutes already. Fenris seemed to be the only one among them capable of motion, and had been on his feet for some time, returning his gauntlets to his fingers while pacinglike a caged tiger and seething openly; the occasional Tevinter curse muttered or spat vehemently during Valeria's recital - some of which Hawke now understood after a few lessons.

It had been an unsettling telling; one of blood rites, secrecy and the eventual nightmarish death that befell every man and woman who took part in the Joining. Hawke had always known that the ritual was dark, and that the Wardens seemed to carry on their shoulders burdens not typical of any other warrior sect, yet the things the Warden Commander had told her had evoked a sense of revulsion and pity for their order.

And a compounded worry for the fate of her sister. Hawke had known of the Calling, but to hear that death would likely claim her sister after only twenty years? Bethany was already halfway there!

For hours Valeria had betrayed the secrets of her order to these outsiders she had only just met; had admitted easilyto discovering - and then turning a blind eye to - the blood magic of an ancient Warden who felt his deeds would cure his fellows before they could succumb to the taint in their veins. Of the man's relocation to the Deep Roads, where he could work his craft with a near endless supply of darkspawn test subjects, and the occasional human - pulled in secret from neighboring bandit camps when necessary.

She spoke so candidly of things that should have stuck in her throat like splintered bones, and as she did Hawke watched that shining veneer of the perfect Grey Warden - the perfect hero - crack a peel to reveal a human being; flawed, frightened and desperate.

Three of the four traits that most often invited disaster, Hawke thought, and scowled darkly at the woman before her; squaring her shoulders at last.

"Assuming for a moment that I will even consider aiding you after what you have told me," she began, "why come to me for help? You clearly know where this Warden-blood mage is, and that he has what you want. Why not go there yourself and retrieve it?"

"Because I am being followed." The Warden admitted with a sigh. "If my pursuers find Avernus before I can make his cure public they will kill him and destroy his cure."

"And what makes you believe your luck will fare better with us?" Fenris threatened; his voice as cold and jagged as broken ice atop a river, grinding against itself dangerously as it flowed. Yet Hawke did not acknowledge him.

"Who are these people that are following you?" She demanded, feeling her mistrust begin to compound more and more in the presence of this woman she once held on a pedestal. Valeria's face crumpled slightly.

"My own order," she admitted with a sigh. "But not because of how it was created. There are some within the Grey Warden ranks who see a cure to the taint as an end to our way of life. The death of our kind, as it were. But they don't understand that this is about more than the Wardens. If this cure works - if it _really_ works - it could eventually bring an end to the Blights!"

"A fete of such magnitude?" Fenris growled dangerously. "Wrought by blood magic? You invite disaster upon humanity." Valeria frowned, shaking her head.

"The cure is nowhere near ready to be used so broadly," she revealed. "It is a potion. And only the research involved blood magic. It had to, as the rite of Joining follows similar principles. The production of the cure itself does not use such power, though."

"You believe that excuses what you have done?" The incensed demanded with a steadily degrading control, rounding the sofa to place himself before Hawke and nearly blocking her view of the Grey Warden. "The use of blood magic is never without consequence - never without some resulting horror. And yet here you sit expecting us to believe there is no risk? We have witnessed it first hand - we know exactly what it is capable of!"

"So have I!" Valeria countered, propelling herself from her seat to stand defiantly before the man who ridiculed her. "I am alive today because of that magic - as is my husband! For too long I have watched so many people - honorable men and women - die in secret and in the dark because of the taint. Now there is a way to prevent that. I would be a monster to turn a blind eye to that!"

"Yet you would allow the lives of others to be irreparably scarred for your own ends?" Fenris sneered, unwilling to back down. "You are already the monster you fear becoming; no better than the mages wielding their cursed power."

"Fenris." Hawke said quietly. "That's enough." Two sets of green eyes lowered to her; one pair flashing vibrantly with fury and disbelief; the other desperately clinging to hope. Frantically Hawke's mind churned with the information she had just received as she struggled to find a rational foothold once more. "You said the blood magic is done," she continued, meeting Valeria's gaze. "That it is not used in the crafting of the cure itself."

"That is correct," Valeria breathed. "The research is over. The ingredients necessary to manufacture the potion are alchemical in nature. One ingredient is darkspawn blood, but is only required because it bares the taint."

"And the cure - the potion - it will work?"

Before her she could see Fenris physically bristle at her words; his expression furious and yet confused all at once. "Hawke - you cannot possibly be considering what she has to say!"

Valeria allowed no moment for Hawke to consider Fenris' demand however. "According to the messages I have received, it works." She revealed. "It is my intention to be the first human recipient. If something goes wrong then... if there is further consequence to pay for this, it will be me that pays it."

"And if this works, will the cure be made available to all manner of infected folk? Common folk and Grey Wardens alike?" Though she spoke of the Grey Wardens as a whole, only one precious face came to mind.

She could still save Bethany. Nearly a decade later, she could finally do right by her sister. And while she could not right the terrible wrongs Valeria had allowed to take place in researching the cure for the taint, if what the Warden Commander said was true, Bethany and the other Wardens could be saved without the need for further sacrifice.

As long as there would be no further use of blood magic-

Fenris stepped before her fully; his eyes boring holes into her soul with their disbelief. "Tell me you are not considering this, Hawke."

It was the closest thing to a plea she had ever heard Fenris speak in the presence of another. It should have unnerved her, yet Bethany's sweet face hung before her mind's eye.

"It is as she said," Hawke replied softly before returning a disparaging look upon the Queen of Ferelden, "the research is over, and the damage already done." Hawke jerked her chin in Valeria's direction. "She will be the first to take the cure. If it fails her life is forfeit, and I will destroy this Avernus so he can't cause further harm with his blood magic. But if it works it can save countless lives. It can redeem itself for the damage its researched caused. Either way, we wont know if the price that was paid was worth it unless we bring this cure back. Will we, _Commander_?" The title was delivered with reproach, yet Valeria's features were a mask of equanimity; her chin held proudly high.

"No result is ever worth the price of such despicable power, Hawke! Fenris bellowed. "That is the nature of blood magic! It consumes more than it bestows - you know this better than any!"

Hawke gazed at him softly, yet with a resolve she could not discount. "Yes. But I also know that when the fire has burned down the forest, sometimes all that is left is to wait and see what seedlings will sprout from the ashes." Her fathers old adage for thinking positive when things grew hard for his family came back to her easily, though it seemed just as thin a thread as it had during her childhood.

Silence stretched for an indeterminable time among them before, amazingly enough, Valeria smiled.

"Leliana was right," she announced, "you're exactly who I need." Her hand extended to Hawke. "Bargain struck, though you'll understand if I give Avernus a bit of warning for a sporting chance?" She murmured. Hawke's gaze flecked down to the appendage warily before she at last took it up.

"I hope for your sake your Avernus has worked a miracle." She murmured.

 

XXXX

 

"No! I will not hear it! It is blood magic!" Fenris' voice bore the same unbridled wrath as the violent slashing gesture of his arm, filling every corner of the room with the evidence of his outrage.

Valeria had at last taken her leave in the early hours of the morning, after leaving Hawke with the promise of a Grey Warden guide to see her through the Deep Roads; whom she could expect to meet near the entrance to the caverns of Ferelden's Storm Coast.

"It's already done." She countered; quieter, yet equally resolute. "The magic is complete - there is nothing left for us to prevent. Would you have me turn my back on the Grey Wardens now because of events that were generations in the making?"

"I would have you stand for what is right and not dismiss what has happened!" He growled, one metal clad finger lifted to point at her accusingly. "If you do this you will be condoning their actions, Hawke."

"I'm not condoning anything, Fenris," she argued, holding her palms out in a plea for him to pause and hear her out. "What she allowed to take place is inexcusable - I know this better than anyone. But playing ignorant to the good that might come from that sacrifice, discarding the possibility that this cure could truly save lives, would be just as reprehensible. The choices we are asked to make are not always easy. You can't always look at them in terms of black and white."

Before her Fenris' lips twisted in a contemptuous sneer. "Is that so? So the ends justify the means now." Hawke recoiled; jarred at the unbridled anger her lover was turning upon her. She had sided with mages for years and had never received such a heated reaction before; though in truth she had made it a habit of leaving him behind on the missions she knew would truly pique his ire.

"Of course not! But how can I undo what was already done? I can only move forward and try to save as many lives as possible. Yet you're asking me to knowingly turn my back on an entire order. On my own sister!" Her traitorous voice caught at the mention of Bethany; her only remaining family. "You once longed for the return of the Champion of Kirkwall. Well here I am, Fenris, making the decisions no one should have to make; just like in Kirkwall!"

"This is nothing like the events of Kirkwall," Fenris spat. "There you were being manipulated by the abomination. He polluted your reason with his deceit!"

"Is _that_ what you think?" Hawke's voice rose with incredulity. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but the choices I made were entirely my own. A life spent in hiding with my apostate family set my path - not Anders."

The scowl upon Fenris' features darkened into nearly unrestrained anger. "I see. First apostates, then abominations. I suppose the natural progression would be for you to turn to blood magic then."

Hawke felt her knees buckle slightly, shocked to hear such cruelty come from his lips. "How can you say that? How can you say that I approve of any of this?!"

"Because after all of the tragedy that has befallen you as a result of magic you are still turning a blind eye to it!" the man before her railed, his eyes flashing with unrestrained fury. "And I will no longer tolerate it!"

Fear filled her voice at the threat that lay beneath his words. "What are you saying? We made a promise, Fenris-"

"I promised to help you return to the woman you were! The woman who could sympathize with mages and yet still see the line that could never be crossed! But you have lost sight of that line, Hawke!" He was panting in his rage now; his voice rising in pitch as he rapidly lost control of himself. "I remember when you held your mother in your lap as she took her last breath. I remember what blood magic inflicted upon you! How could _you_ have forgotten?!"

"That's not fair! I can't allow people to die for the past crimes of another!" Hawke was pleading now; aware that this was no mere spat, where they would disagree but ultimately set their differences aside for the sake of what they had.

Fenris seemed ready to cast that all away if she would not side with him. The panic roiled into desperation. He was going to make her decide between doing what she felt was right and him. And she could see there would be no time for her to consider which she could survive sacrificing. "Please," she whispered, "don't ask me to choose..."

"No, of course you should not choose." He sneered, leaning into her as he would his quarry, and Hawke found herself tilting away from him instinctually. "I have fought by your side for so long it must seem only natural I remain at your beck and call." He went on, his teeth gleaming dangerously from behind stretched lips. "Then let us dispense with the illusions, shall we? What do you command of me, _Mistress_?"

The crack of her hand against his cheek halted all other sound within the room, and she stood frozen before him; her arm still crooked with the follow-through of her blow. Blue light flickered to life before her and eyes the color of gemstones glowed as well; a snarl ripping from his throat as a metal-clad hand wrapped around her shoulder-

-and awareness flared across his features at the exact moment the light of his tattoos was snuffed out.

"How could you?" She whispered, and Fenris started, something very close to alarm flashing across his features. "How could you say _that_?"

In his cruel need to hurt her, he had taken the one thing she had fought so desperately against and thrown it in her face. Fenris knew better than most that, no matter how they might disagree on the plight of mages, Hawke abhorred slavery; or any form of subjection for that matter. Like the Circle.

The grip on her shoulder abruptly disengaged; the offending hand dropping to his side guiltily. "Hawke, I-"

"Get out." Her voice was barely audible, tears already burning her eyes like a poisonous cloud. "Now."

For a moment Fenris hesitated before her, seemingly torn between what he wanted and what she was demanding of him. His delay carried on for a heartbeat too long, however, for the first tear escaped her lids and Hawke panicked that she would break down before him. 

She could _not_ do that.

" _Now_!" She shrieked. With a start Fenris turned, albeit reluctantly, leaving the room in silence and closing the door behind him.

No longer able to hold back her tears or maintain her composure, Hawke lifted the first thing she could reach from the nearby table - her pack - and lobbed it at the door. Glass bottles shattered within upon impact; red and brown liquid oozing out of the leather satchel onto the rug and bleeding out beneath the door Fenris had just departed through.

Lost to her misery, Hawke dropped to her rump upon the floor and hugged her knees as she wept in earnest.

 

XXXX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy cow.
> 
> I never knew it would be so hard to write a legitimate argument between two people to where either side could be right or wrong. Generally the arguments I've written have always had a clear antagonist, but in this case both of them had to appear on equal footing, so to speak. I actually wrote this in three parts. First I established the general points I wanted each to make. Next I wrote Hawke's side of the argument. Then I actually waited a few weeks to let Hawke seep out of my system, so I could go back and "attack" her from Fenris' point of view.
> 
> Whether you agree or disagree with either is up to you, but I hope that I kept them cannon enough to where they each fought for their arguments believably.
> 
> This was written without having downloaded the DLC for DA2, by the way. ;)
> 
> And now... let's stir up some old favorites, shall we?


	8. Coping with the Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They had always known that their beliefs regarding mages were different. They had always accepted that they would never see eye-to-eye on the matter of magic. Yet now, confronted with the realities of what those differences mean, Hawke and Fenris must each do what they believe to be right. 
> 
> But can they bear the consequences of those choices?

 

## ACT EIGHT: COPING WITH THE CONSEQUENCES

 

 

What a fool he had been.

The fire in the empty common room had been reduced to little more than glowing coals when Fenris at last roused from his musings; the inn's servants had not yet emerged to begin their morning chores. It was in the pre-dawn darkness and solitude before those flickering embers that Fenris had contemplated what had taken place only a few hours prior. The Grey Warden's tale had set his teeth on edge as images of what they had endured at Adamant flashed within his mind, as well as their trip to the Fade and the nightmares they had faced within.

Had it not been for the Wardens' use of blood magic none of that would have been necessary, he felt, and barely suppressed a shudder as memories of the events within Fade held tight to him.

It had all been so clear to him... so frighteningly, perfectly clear, and utterly unexpected. Things familiar and not familiar, both lending validity to the inner turmoil he tried so desperately to push down. It had all been there - terrors he had not anticipated made flesh. Leandra: her eyes fogged white and her lips blue; dead long before she had ceased to breathe. The mage sibling, Bethany: her voice lifting in a terror-stricken scream as her body exploded into that of a fiery demon's visage. And a pair of men: one younger, tall and broad, yet bearing a striking resemblance to Bethany in some ways. The other older, and with eyes and ebony hair so similar to Hawke's there was no question where she had inherited her features.

Hawke's family had come staggering through the Fade, calling out for her as they sought to have her join them in death. And like a man possessed, Fenris had cut them down each time they had come. Again and again he had slain her loved ones as they chanted her name, their cries falling on deaf ears. For in Hawke's experience, they had been nothing more than clicking spiders.

The scene was one he was certain would haunt him for countless nights to come, and all because they had been forced yet again to combat blood magic.

No. His initial observation had been correct. There was nothing blood magic touched that it did not ruin.

Yet could the same not be said for himself personally?

Fenris growled and stood from his stool so that he might pace before the fireplace. It was foolish to waste time on idiotic regrets. Even still, it was even more foolish to waste what he had built so carefully with Hawke for an errand; even one as troublesome as this. He had protected her from far worse for far longer. He could not simply abandon her now; not when desperation drove her to acts she would not normally reduce herself to.

And... there was no denying that he had behaved badly, he admitted to himself with a scowl. Hawke may have been acting unreasonably, but to twist her words and their promise into something so vile had been more than unkind on his behalf, and he owed it to her to make amends.

And if she chose to make him miserable until he had sufficiently paid his penance, he would accept it gladly. For despite what he had so caustically accused her of earlier, never once had she made him feel bound, indebted or ensnared by her, he knew, glancing down at the sash secured to his wrist. At least, not in any way that he had not invited openly.

Deciding that he had allowed her more than enough time to wallow in her outrage, Fenris climbed the stairs once more and returned to the entrance of their suite. The room was still closed off, as it had been hours past, though the stain which he had stood and watch silently spread from beneath the door - the result of her hurling what had undoubtedly been her supply pack at his exit - had since been scrubbed clean.

"Hawke," he called quietly, his hand momentarily still upon the latch, "I am coming in." Receiving no response, he entered and at once felt his insides clench.

The room was empty of its inhabitant and her effects; the table bearing the obvious evidence of her activities after his departure in the form of a basin of debris and soiled rags, a pitcher of soapy water, and a folded piece of parchment. Yet more worrisome was the gaping balcony doors, revealing the slow blush of the impending sunrise beyond.

Stalking to the table Fenris inspected her leavings and found the parchment to be a note addressed to the proprietor of the inn, apologizing for their behavior and offering the five sovereigns folded within as recompense for the ruined rug and whitewashed door. Within the bowl beside the table rested the rags she had undoubtedly use to sop up her mess as well as Hawke's own emptied coin purse and belt pack, both coated in the remnants of her healing supplies.

 _Damnable woman_.

With a growled obscenity Fenris snatched the sovereigns into his grasp and Hawke's pack and purse from the basin before setting out for the stables in pursuit of his lover.

If Madame wanted reimbursement for the damages to her room she could carve it from the hide of that Grey Warden bitch, he seethed.

And if Hawke thought she would so easily be rid of _him_ she would soon find herself vastly mistaken.

 

XXXX

 

The trail had gone cold. Again. Fenris snarled low as he grit his teeth in mounting agitation. "Festus bei umo canaverum," he muttered to the ground he had dropped to one knee to inspect, not caring that the object of his ire was not present to hear.

Three weeks. Three weeks of chasing shadows across Orlais and into Ferelden had left the normally ill-tempered man positively savage. In the beginning it had been his intent to find her quickly, before she had time to cover much territory. Whether he would succeed in dissuading her from this mission, or ultimately accompany her into the Deep Roads, no longer mattered as it had. He simply needed to have her with him; to know that she was safe.

Yet that initial hope was gradually slipping though his grasp with each day that came and passed. Try though he might he could not hold Hawke's trail for more than a few days at a time. The woman had seemingly grown so accustomed to a life of flight that she now covered her tracks through habit alone. Either that, or she was intentionally evading Fenris, and he could not believe that was so. She had left him, yes, but she had left him with his own mount, the pack horse, the majority of the supplies from their saddle bags, and what must have been half of the coin from her purse, which he had found tucked beneath his mount's saddle blanket, still covered in the sticky residue of what had been her healing potions.

No. She had left him the means to find her. Yet her great care in seeing to the careful division of their belongings insinuated something far worse than any possible desire of hers to evade him.

Hawke did not anticipate seeing him again. She believed he would simply let her go.

It was a thought that would infuriate him in its stupidity through most of his journey, yet threaten to rip the heart from his chest during moments when he allowed himself to feel the loss of her. For in those moments he knew that this was his doing. No matter what idiocy she may contemplate, in the end he had uttered those words with the sole intent of hurting her in the worst possible way. He had reduced what they had to something sordid, and then-

-the memory of snapping back to reality within their suite to find his markings flickering and his hand so close to...

Fenris' growl of self-disgust crescendoed into a low roar and he all but leapt to his feet, spinning on his toes and scanning the surrounding area for disturbed pebbles, a broken twig, anything that would betray Hawke's passage. Methodically he began to circle the wooded area. One would have thought having so many obstacles to disturb would have made her passage easy to spot, and yet even her horse now seemed adept at covering its footfalls. As he searched with increasing agitation his own mount nickered at his back.

"Quiet," he spat without thought, and then stilled. Prior to their involvement with the Inquisition Fenris had held little tolerance for horses, yet his bequeathed gelding had thus far proven to be an excellent warning of trouble. He had not learned that when first setting out to find his lover however, and disregarded the beast's drastic change in disposition just days into his venture; a regrettable error which had cost him the life of his pack horse when he had stumbled upon a small troupe of red templars.

Wiser now for the experience, and for the others that had followed, Fenris slowly turned back to the remaining animal, his hand lifted to his sword. "What is it?" He murmured, watching the horse's ears twitch nervously. "What do you hear?" It was absurd asking such questions of a creature that could not speak, and yet it was better than silence. Even so, the animal snorted as if responding and wheeled, its head bobbing as it stomped its hooves, and Fenris turned to face the same direction.

His sword was clear of his back before the first leather-clad man was upon him, the massive blade causing the air it sliced through to nearly howl with its passage. Yet the miscreant was as clumsy as he was foolish; holding daggers as he should a sword, and with none of the dexterity the weapons called for as he lunged for the pouch bearing the Hawke family crest – thoroughly cleaned and affixed now to Fenris' own belt. The dark warrior felled the man with barely any effort; a well-timed side-step and a downward sweep of his sword against the stooping back had the thug dropping dead as the second bandit set hands upon the horse's bridle. The animal reared, screaming in panic as it lashed out with metal-tipped hooves which struck the thief in the hip. Howling in pain, the assailant dropped his hands from the leather straps and stumbled, giving the elf warrior sufficient time to cleave his blade through the man's shoulder and halfway into his torso. Blood patterned the hide of the horse as it did Fenris in a great arcing spray, yet he gave no thought to the mess beyond wiping his eyes clear.

Three more bandits clad in shabby brown leathers remained, yet only two rushed in to fight; the final bandit making the uncommonly wise decision to flee rather than engage a foe so clearly beyond their abilities. The quarrel required no finesse; nothing of the skills he had employed so often while traveling in Hawke's company. It was almost disappointing. Fenris took a shallow slice to his shoulder as one of the men sought to drive a blade into his back before finding an ethereal blue arm plunging into his chest. The final criminal, wielding an axe as rigidly as though he intended to fight a tree, met his end at the tip of a great-sword which sliced into him deeply from thigh to chin; the blood at his throat bubbling gently with the large man's final exhalation.

For a moment Fenris debated giving chase for the thug who had fled before abandoning the idea. He had more important quarry and would not risk permanently losing her trail for the sake of a pathetically easy kill.

And so Fenris returned to the horse, gripping its bridle gently while uttering low sounds of reassurance until the large eyes before his face ceased their rolling. It seemed he was improving in his ability to calm a horse; a skill he had learned from Hawke so many weeks ago. Stamping down his impatience to be off, he instead continued his quiet murmurings - mostly softened commands for silence, for the words did not matter as much as the tone of their delivery, Hawke had said - until the snorting creature gave one final exasperated huff and then fell quiet.

"Good," he affirmed at last, patting the animal's neck lightly before returning to his pacing of the area, scowling down at the footprints and disturbances his would-be murderers had left in their wake. If he had missed her trail previously, it was almost certainly lost to him now.

Yet in the end it did not matter. He knew her destination, having been present when Hawke had been given her instructions. It would take more time than he had originally planned, but delaying here would almost certainly give her opportunity to reach the Deep Roads before him. Given his prior pace it was likely that would already be the case unless he hurried.

With a feral grace he was almost never aware of, Fenris swung himself up into the horse's saddle and pushed the animal into a run with one thought firmly rooted within his mind.

Hawke would not enter into such peril without him at her side.

He would not allow it.

 

XXXX

 

From beneath the hood of her dripping cloak Hawke set loose the sigh that had been pent up within her for days.

Finally...

After nearly five weeks of solitary travel through two countries, and then nearly two more days of navigating the steep hills and rain soaked terrain of the Storm Coast, Hawke arrived at a grand doorway carved into a rocky outcrop alongside the water's edge; the dwarven architecture clear even without the standard angular statues or oddly patterned carvings. She had passed several such entries in this region during her travels, yet it was this particular entrance that she had been given as the appointed meeting place. Not far off from her destination a sodden figure tended to a struggling cook fire, while beyond that three horses bearing the emblazoned symbol of a rearing gryphon on their tack stood tethered to a fallen tree. It seemed that the Grey Warden was already here, though Hawke could not decipher why he would need three mounts, and felt her trepidation rise as a result.

Was it possible that this was not her guide after all, but the Wardens opposed to Valeria's cure?

Instantly she became irritated with her failing confidence. There had been a time when she would not have allowed three Wardens to deter her. Fenris had been right - where was that woman who had once balked at nothing?

And with that thought her fear was drown out by despair, which washed over her as quickly and physically as an ocean swell. She had tried so desperately during her lone journey to keep thoughts of Fenris from her mind; to find anything to keep herself from breaking again. Her decision had been a betrayal of his trust, she knew, yet she could not bring herself to abandon this mission and the lives it could save.

Even still, the loss of him gutted her heart and filled her with an ache she tried at all costs to avoid.

Suddenly eager for a distraction - even a dangerous one - Kirkwall's Champion drew her horse up to the individual currently crouched before the weak fire, noticing with mild surprise that the one she had watched with such concern was not yet even a man. That would explain the need for one of the extra horses, she mused as large, wary eyes lifted up to her from the ground. "Y-yes?" Beneath her oiled cloak Hawke squared her shoulders habitually at the squeaked inquiry.

"It seems this storm may break soon," She said casually by way of a greeting, glancing at the landscape around her before turning a sharp eye to the boy before her. Those almost frightened eyes widened with recognition and the thin-faced youth licked his lips hastily.

"T-the weather is changing," he replied stiffly, as though reciting a lesson that had been drilled into him for weeks, which could very well have been the case. "It is pointless to try to stop it." Hawke smiled softly and the appropriate response. It was the agreed upon code they were to use to identify friend from foe. And given her initial reaction of his presence, it was no wonder the boy looked so frightened by her approach. Likely he had held the same worry that she had, and Hawke felt compelled to put the poor soul at ease.

"You're a bit young to be a Grey Warden," she pointed out while holding her smile and climbing down from her horse; the rain breaking through the brief breach in the opening in her cloak. Her observation clearly caught the lad off guard for he shook his head emphatically, shaking droplets of rain from his hair.

"Me? Oh no, ser. I'm only here to tend the horses. Your guides are already inside." At his words Hawke frowned, puzzled.

"Guides?" She repeated, clearly enunciating the pluralization. "I thought I was to just have one." The youth shrugged helplessly.

"Sorry, ser, I don't know anything about that. I'm just here for the horses."

Hawke nodded. "I see. Would you be willing to look after mine as well?" The boy's head bobbed once.

"Those are my orders, ser," he admitted and Hawke handed him the reigns to her horse. Thinking on the matter for a moment, she then quickly removed her cloak, flipping it around his slim shoulders before she could be refused.

"It's still pouring out here. It seems you'll have a bit of a wait before the storm breaks," she said with a wink, "and I won't have my horse tended to by a sick hand. You can give this back when I return."

Stiffly the youth waited while Hawke fasted the catch and lifted the hood over his head. "Yes, ser." He replied. "Thank you, ser."

Hawke nodded and stepped back, giving her horse an affectionate stroke on the neck - having grown attached to the only companion she'd had these many weeks. "His name is Horse," she remarked idly, turning a bland eye to the boy who currently looked on her with unguarded incredulity, "and mine is Hawke. What's yours?" Great brown eyes blink; obviously caught off guard by the question.

"Oh. Wilhelm, ser."

"I see. Well Wilhelm, I expect you to take good care of my friend here." She said with a final pat to Horse's shoulder, and before her Wilhelm's head bobbed obediently.

"I will ser." He swore with all the severity of a knight's oath.

A small smirk and a slight tilt of her head was her only response to the promise before Hawke turned and trotted away to the stone door where her guides waited.

 

XXXX

 

She had jogged twenty paces into the Deep Roads when the massive door separating her from the outside world finally closed shut with a resonating bang, and in that moment Hawke found she could go no further.

With the sealing of the door the weak daylight that had spilled into the passage had been cut off, and she was plunged into darkness she had not been prepared for; even after entering from the oppressing gloom of the coast's storm-choked skies. For what was likely only a few seconds, yet felt like an eternity, Hawke could do little beyond stand rooted to the stone floor beneath her as she waited for her eyes to adjust. The feeling of being open, vulnerable, seeped into her bones like a winter chill. She wanted nothing more than to slip unnoticed into the cover of stealth, yet here was where the darkness left no shadow for her to melt into.

Further into the passages, the sounds of scuffling movements prickled the skin on the back of her neck, while her blinking eyes were gradually able to identify the weak light of torches in the distance; their radiance doing almost nothing to illuminate her immediate surroundings. Unable to lose herself to obscurity in this place, yet unwilling to be caught off guard, Hawke reached back and drew her daggers with silent care as she fought against the sudden, irrational surge of panicked adrenaline that was now coursing through her veins.

There was nothing to fear, she reminded herself. The exit was just behind her, and the swiftness of her horse's legs was not much farther. She was no stranger to the perils of the Deep Roads, she forced herself to recall. Maker's teeth, she had battled her way through the uprising of Kirkwall, and the Warden's stand at Adamant, and the bloody _Fade_ itself! This was just the dark. She had nothing to fear. She-

"I was starting to wonder if you were gonna show," a graveled voice called from the guttering torchlight, managing to somehow come across as equal parts bored and cantankerous, and Hawke repressed a sudden start at the presence. "She said you were coming but I didn't figure you were gonna take your sodding sweet time getting here."

The Champion squinted into the dark until the silhouette before her melted into the image of a stocky man - a dwarf she realized as he drew closer. Confident at last that she was in no imminent danger from darkspawn or the like, Hawke's tension eased. "Are you my guide?" she asked, sheathing her blades and calling her nerves to order. The man before her snorted a derisive sound from behind his braided beard.

"Name's Oghren," he announced petulantly. "And yeah, I'm your guide. Or at least I'm supposed to be."

Hawke frowned at his last statement. "Has something changed?"

An ill-tempered guffaw exploded from Oghren and he jabbed a thick thumb over his shoulder. "Can't say. You need to ask the freak." Without giving Hawke clarification the Grey Warden turned in the direction he had come, bellowing carelessly into the darkness without thought of what foul things may be close enough to hear. "Hey! I ain't your sodding messenger! Get your skirts out here or I'll-"

"Lower your voice!" Another within the murk hissed, accompanied by the footfalls of leather-clad feet on stone. "Are you trying to get us all killed?"

Her mind instantly muddled, warring with itself to both accept and deny what she was witnessing, as a figure robed in those long-favored black feathers and buckles entered the glow of the torchlight from beyond the dwarf's shoulder; amber eyes shining as they regarded her with that ever-present expression of longing and sadness, even now, after so much time had passed. When at last there was no denying what her gaze told her she felt her senses clear just in time to find her own lips letting slip a low whisper without her consent. " _Anders_."

The face before her crumpled slightly at the sound of his name, and once more that voice she had never planned to hear again spoke to her; gentle, hesitant, and expressive in a way she had cherished. It all seemed to her like a lifetime ago.

"Hello Hawke."

XXXX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took forever it seems. I think it was because I had much of it planned out in my head when I posted the last chapter, but then life (and a few deaths) had me put my writing on hold.
> 
> In any case, I hope that this doesn't seem too rushed. I've been sitting with this in my brain for so long that I worry I rushed through it when I wrote it. Or maybe it's just that this chapter is so much shorter than the ones before?
> 
> And really - did anyone NOT see Anders coming back? (I hope that Oghren was a surprise, though.)
> 
> In case you haven't seen it, my other Dragon Age story posted here is about the events of DAO, and is where Valeria came from. It's old, and my writing style has improved/changed since I wrote it, but if you want to read about her please feel free to check it out!
> 
> Thanks for reading - I appreciate your kudos, comments, etc.!


	9. A Return to the Deep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Resolved to her mission, Hawke finds reason again to draw dagger and face the danger before her, renewed in purpose and in her desire to rediscover her inner strength.
> 
> Yet determination is not always enough to see things through.
> 
> And inner strength does not mean going it alone...

 

## ACT NINE: A RETURN TO THE DEEP

  

A golden gaze and pained expression were before her once more, just as they had been so often in the past, and she knew without question what thoughts were behind those eyes. They were the same worries for her safety that had come between them so often during their years together; the same fears so often spoken through half-hearted warnings or midnight whispers.

And now it seemed that, in spite of her wishes, he had appeared again. The dashing rescuer to the imperiled princess in those fairy-stories Bethany had loved as a girl. The hero would fight gallantly to defend the princess from the threat inflicted upon her. And when the princess was safe once again she and her hero would realize that they had fallen in love, and her father - the king - would see them wed before the week's end; a suitable prize for the man who had saved his daughter...

Only Hawke was no delicate princess. She was an assassin, a duelist, and she needed no rescuer.

In that moment all of the trepidation and uncertainty she felt was miraculously gone for the first time in weeks. It its place anger bloomed like a mage's fireball - growing exponentially with every second it existed and taking the place of her voice as it smoldered quietly within her throat. "Get out."

Before her Anders blinked, undoubtedly caught off guard more by her tone than her words. "Wait. Please - allow me to explain."

"By all means, explain then." She replied, quiet yet far from reserved. "Explain how can you presume that you have the right to be here. That you would think I would even want you here." Beyond her shoulder the dwarf chortled darkly, yet Hawke paid him no notice; the entirety of her attention focused solely upon the man shifting uneasily before her.

"I had to come," her former lover admitted, extending his hands entreatingly. "When I heard what the Commander was asking of you I couldn't bear the thought of you coming here alone." Hawke felt her pulse kick.

"When you heard-" she spluttered, her composure slipping fractionally, "were you spying on me, Anders?" There was no other option. Anders would no sooner return to the Grey Wardens without coercion than he would the Circle.

The thin face before her tilted away slightly; a telltale sign that his stubborn need to validate himself was winning out over his guilt. "When you told me you were separating from me, I knew that I couldn't just let you go off on your own like that. You were still so lost. So alone."

"Except that I wasn't actually alone." Hawke countered darkly, watching as Anders' face twisted with unrestrained anger.

"You mean Fenris?" The question could have been delivered through a laugh had Anders not seemed so indignant. "That man is dangerous, Hawke. His loyalty to you was based on convenience alone. It was only a matter of time before he turned on you. Even still... to take advantage of you as he did before-"

A jolt of outrage seared her veins and Hawke's control snapped, causing her to send Anders sprawling to the stonework at her feet. Clutching his jaw tightly with one hand, he stared in muted shock up at the woman looming over him; her fist still clenched tightly beside her, yet perfectly still. "You will not speak of my relationship with Fenris to me." Her voice was a frozen hiss. "Ever. Do you understand?"

When she paused for a response Anders obliged, delivering it through a locked jaw with his hand still firmly affixed to his face. "Maker. You still care for him? After he-" his words were choked short, however, when Hawke wrenched him up from the ground by the collar of his coat, bringing his face mere inches from her.

"I will not say it again, Anders." She watched as his eyes darted back and forth between hers before finally giving a slow conceding nod of his head, at which point she released him from her grasp and stepped back, allowing him to rise. Wincing, the man took a moment to place glowing blue hands to his cheek carefully until he was at last satisfied with his healing.

"So that's it, then?" The mage pressed, pausing to open his jaw wide with an audible pop. "You intend on going into the deep roads with just the two of you? You can't honestly be mad enough to think you'll make it without a healer. If nothing else, let me come with you for that reason."

"I just lay you out flat and you still insist on coming? Into the Deep Roads - a place you have admittedly hate?" It was Hawke's turn to express her incredulity, peering at him through slitted, doubtful eyes. "What is it you're after?"

"Hope." He admitted without pause. "That I might survive to see all mages free to live the lives any other would be entitled to. That I can banish this accursed song from my mind before it drives me to find my death in these tunnels. That perhaps, if I do enough good in this world, you may be able to see me as someone worthy of standing in your presence again. There is much I hope for, Hawke, and all of it starts with accompanying you."

She wanted to deny his request; to turn him away and stalk into the waiting darkness alone. But this place frightened her more than she cared to admit, and she knew that a healer was invaluable when traveling these passages.

That reason, and his words, held her tongue.

_'That perhaps, if I do enough good in this world, you may be able to see me as someone worthy of standing in your presence again.'_

She could not help but to recall that fateful night during the journey to Ghislain, when Fenris had eluded to his belief that she had regained her old self. It seemed to her now that Anders shared that belief.

Perhaps this is what she needed; someone to drive her on in her attempts to regain herself. Whether it was an adversarial role or not did not matter. She simply needed someone to act as the catalyst.

Let Anders have his hope. She could have hers, too.

"Alright." She said, noting Anders' visible surprise at finding her so agreeable. "I think the three of us together may be just enough to take on the Deep Roads and come out alive. Pack your gear - we're heading out in one hour."

 

XXXX

 

She learned quite a bit about Oghren during those first few hours of uneventful travel. The man had been married to a paragon to start. Hawke's first reaction had been to dismiss the statement as a lie, yet Anders had affirmed the fact. From what she had learned of dwarven culture from Varric, this should have been a point of considerable pride, yet Oghren spoke of Branka with open contempt, except when describing their bedroom activities.

Then there were his tales of his other romantic or lesser conquests, of his time with the Hero of Ferelden both before and after the Blight, of his history with drink and battles... and soon enough Hawke came to realize why it was Oghren had been sent to act as her guide.

There was not another Grey Warden - no, not another living soul - on Thedas quite as revolting as this man, Hawke decided. Given the current situation within the Grey Wardens, it was unlikely that someone loyal to the Warden Commander could have slipped from the order unnoticed or without being pursued. Yet Hawke found herself convinced after the second hour that somewhere there was a command of Wardens sighing with relief at the absence of this man from their numbers.

She had found herself well into a state of regret at her decision to travel with the dwarf when, in a fit of desperation after listening to a particularly graphic description of the dwarf's abhorrent style of courting, she finally turned to Anders with a question that had been absently tickling at the back of her mind.

"You said you hoped to banish a song from your head," she said, earning a look of surprise from the man at her sudden attention to him, yet paying it no mind, "what did you mean? Not Justice, I presume."

"No," Anders replied quietly, "Justice has nothing to do with this."

Hawke peered at the mage impatiently. "Well? What is it then?" Anders continued to peer into the darkness before them, a slight furrow creasing his brow.

"It's the sodding Calling." Oghren revealed from behind her shoulder. "The freak here's got the archdemon in his head non-stop."

Despite the animosity she had felt towards Anders these passed few hours, her stomach flipped sickeningly within her. It was just as she had feared. "You were in Orlais?"

"You know I was," Anders replied quietly, and too late she remembered her grievance with the man, yet given the circumstances she could not summon that indignant anger as she had earlier. "One day after crossing into Orlais I woke up from a nightmare to find it still in my head and I..." he grimaced. "It's quieter here in Ferelden. Almost unnoticeable. But I know its sound now. I can still hear its echo."

"Do you," Hawke hesitated uncertainly, ignoring the way her companions' attention simultaneously turned toward the same shadowy path before them, "do you know if Bethany is in Orlais?"

"There are hundreds of Grey Wardens in Orlais, Hawke," Anders replied softly, shaking his head. A similar question delivered to Oghren about if she could be in Ferelden received a quick response of how humans all looked the same to the dwarf - all legs and no meat, he stated.

Steeling herself against the fear that washed through her veins, she returned her attention to the distance, where the muffled clatter of metal and footfalls could be heard within the darkened place which had caught the others' attention.

"It doesn't matter," she said, more for herself than for her companions, "we'll find the cure, and then no Grey Warden need fear the Calling."

"Agreed." Anders replied firmly, and Hawke suddenly remembered that the mage had been fond of his sister. Indeed it was Bethany who developed an accord with their apostate guide faster than Hawke. The former Champion recalled the pair's conversations within the Deep Roads; talks of what it had been like for Bethany to have a father to teach her to use her magic. Of their views on the Circle and the state of the world. Of favorite spells or tricks they had learned over the years.

Hawke had sometimes wondered that if things had been different, if Bethany had not been struck ill, would Anders have turned to the younger sister instead?

Before them the noise of approaching darkspawn echoed roughly from the stone walls, cutting her free of her thoughts.

"Oh goody," the surly dwarf spoke up, "everyone's got the warm and fuzzies again. I'm as happy as a girl with new braids. Now, can we kill something?"

Hawke's brow arched and in spite of herself she managed to effect a humorless smirk, gesturing to the path before them invitingly.

"By all means, lead the way."

A vicious grin tugged at the corners of his braided beard and, with a roared taunt that involved several offensive slurs, Oghren rushed ahead of his companions, tearing loose a massive double-bladed battle axe from his back. Only slightly more cautious than her Grey Warden guide, Hawke hung back until the small horde of darkspawn came into view before choosing her target and rushing it with silent efficiency.

Then it happened.

She was dancing once more. And of course the most enjoyable dances always involved a designated partner. So as Oghren hacked away at the small mob of genlocks he had allowed to surround him, Hawke instead separated the lone hurlock from the others, drawing it to one side so that she could dance in private with the creature.

The music of her blood pounding in her ears was fast, and frenzied, and glorious. Before her the monstrosity wielded a sword and shield, yet it was nowhere near the master that Aveline was. It blocked frequently enough, forcing Hawke to spin around to one side in order to land a blow, but its blade could almost never catch her. Only twice during their dance did Hawke feel the shallow kiss of iron against her skin, yet it was not nearly enough to deter her. She had faced worse than this lone darkspawn before and had proven time and time again that she was fleet of foot and deadly in her craft.

Felling the hurlock at last with a flashing spin around its back followed immediately by the precise placement of her blade through its spine, Hawke immediately took a quick assessment of her minimal injuries and signaled the all clear to Anders, watching as their healer then disregarded her so that he could move to engage the remaining genlocks.

Anders had never battled in the same way that typical mages would, which involved a lot of pointing staffs at their quarry while remaining rooted in place. The apostate instead was in constant motion, flowing with the steps to a dance of his own. Always in the distance, separated from his fellows in order to survey and provide aid where it was most needed. And as he moved, his staff moved with him; twirling at his side, arcing behind his back, spinning over one arm before halting its motion within the grasp of his other hand - all done with a singular, unbroken grace. Had he not been wielding spell work, an outsider could have confused him for a knight practicing with a pike, for he carried himself with utter physical assurance.

Unfortunately such prowess did not make him a master in all areas of combat, for as he cast his spells at the throng in the distance one of Oghren's playthings strayed from its fellows, charging at the mage single-mindedly. Abandoning his spell-work, Anders tried to evade the coming attack, but had not acted quickly enough.

Yet there was one among them who had. For, like an invisible breeze in the night air, Hawke swept in between the mage and the monstrous warrior. The creature before her gargled a protesting sound as she spun around it before its sword could find her; her blade circling round its throat, leaving a slick back line in its wake. From behind her prey the rogue's crossed arms flung out to either side, her stained daggers severing the head from the neck with pitiful ease. Disdainfully she planted a booted foot to the creature's back and pushed, toppling the thing over and splattering Anders' jacket with the genlock's blood. A quick assessment of her comrade found him whole and unharmed, as Anders cringed down at his clothing mournfully.

"This will never wash out," he bemoaned to himself and, without conscious thought of what she was doing, Hawke chuckled. The sound brought them both to a start and for a moment the pair simply stood before each other, watching and waiting to see how the other might respond. The silence did not remain between them for long.

"Well" Oghren panted lightly as he sauntered up to the tableau, oblivious of the tension, his axe dripping gore over his shoulder, "that was fun. What say we go find some more uglies to break into pudding, eh?" 

 

XXXX

 

Hawke eventually found herself recalling one of her chief complaints with the Deep Roads; for as their party traveled deeper and deeper, it became increasingly difficult to keep track of time. Closer to the entrances, where they were not so far removed from the surface, openings to the sky above were more frequent, giving them some measurement of the passage of time.

Based on their sleeping and eating routine, Hawke surmised that at least a full week had passed since she had last glimpsed daylight through one of these small fissures, and roughly a week and a half since she had first entered the Deep Roads.

With the darkspawn attacks increasing in both frequency and ferocity, the fatigue of those battles upsetting her body's natural sense of time, and the air about them growing increasingly stale and fetid the further in they traveled, Hawke felt her patience with their progress fraying at both ends.

So when Anders suggested, after another immeasurable stretch, that they stop and make camp for a few hours Hawke did not attempt to douse her temper.

"I don't see why we're doing this," she continued to grouse, flattening out her bedroll while watching Anders light the fire with his bare fingers, "We don't know it's evening, do we? We've no idea how long we've been walking really - it could have been just a few hours."

The mage before her stood, pulling at his neck in a clear display of fatigue. "Does it matter what time it is? We need to rest so we stopped."

"No," Hawke remarked pointedly, " _you_ needed to rest. I feel fine."

"You always did consider yourself to be a good liar, didn't you?" He replied, yet his tone indicated that he did not share her opinion. "I can tell just by looking at you that you're exhausted. Probably more-so than us." He gestured first to himself and then in Oghren's direction. "And don't think I haven't noticed that you're not eating properly, for that matter. Now, are you going to lay down or do I have to immobilize you?"

From his watch post atop a large piece of crumbled masonry, Oghren guffawed. "Admit it. That's the same line he used the first time you let him cork the skin barrel." The vulgar dysphemism caused Hawke's throat to lurch in a barely suppressed gag. It was bad enough that the dwarf knew of their former relationship - but that he frequently felt the need and apparent entitlement to discuss the more intimate parts of it had only taken her opinion of the berserker down to near contemptible status.

"Maker! Are you ever not offensive?" She demanded through a dry swallow, gripping her head as though trying to forcibly hold her sanity in place. "Do you even know what tact is?"

"That gear you put on a horse before you mount it," Oghren guessed and then smiled lewdly "or a woman, if she's into that sort of thing."

Hawke's hand dropped to her dagger, her grip secured upon the handle, and was immediately stilled by warm fingers atop her own.

"Are you alright?" Anders murmured, leaning from one side to the other in an attempt to look her in the eyes. Hawke glared down at the offending appendage.

"I told you I'm fine," she said peevishly, wrenching her hand free from his. "I certainly don't need you touching me." Amber eyes seeking out hers stilled as the mouth beneath them tightening into a thin line.

"Right then," Anders replied briskly, rising to his feet and striding across their small encampment. "I guess that settles it. Get some sleep. I'll take second watch after the dwarf." Tired of arguing, Hawke laid back on her bedroll, turning her back to the party so that her shoulders and spine were warmed comfortably by the fire. And if the stone beneath her bedding was too hard she could not tell.

"Wake me when it's my turn at watch." She muttered, listening for a response yet hearing only the sound of fabric rustling from the direction of Anders' own bedroll and the soft drag of whetstone on steel coming from Oghren's position.

Yet as she lay there, a feeling of shame soon began to wash over her. Since the aftermath of that first fight something had changed between them. She would not have gone so far as to say that they were friends. It was more of an unspoken agreement: she let go of her hostility and he respected her need for a certain amount of distance. It was civil, polite.

And she had just disrupted that.

"Anders?" She called softly without turning to face him. "I'm sorry."

There was a moment of silence before his voice lifted quietly from his bedroll. "It's fine. Get some rest. You'll feel better, for it."

Despite herself, Hawke managed to drift off rather quickly; her dreams nonsensical in the way they became whenever she was bone weary. Images that included her mother, and Horse, and that strange boy with the enormous hat Varric had introduced her to in Skyhold floated in and out of her thoughts in a hazy manner that was not uncomfortable. Eventually she found herself as a young girl sitting in a sunny glade before her sister's slight back, braiding the long, dark hair combed out before her. Bethany was humming quietly, her childish voice lowering a little as the tune went on. As Hawke's braiding progressed Bethany's voice dipped lower than what a girl her age should have been capable of. Heedless of the curiosity, Hawke continued her task, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her back as she worked.

Three more twists and Bethany's voice had dropped to a masculine baritone.

Hawke's fingers completed another twist.

The song lost all semblance melody as it dropped to an eery rumble.

Another deft move of her fingers.

The ground beneath her began to vibrate with the sound.

Hawke's fingers moved to complete another loop.

A hand gripped her shoulder fiercely and she gasped-

-and bolted upright to find herself in the dull light of the Deep Roads with Anders half-kneeling beside her, shaking her with one hand as the other clutched his staff. Beyond her back the rumbling from her dream was still present and growing louder.

"Hawke! Get up!" The mage's eyes were wild; his hair unbound and disheveled as it usually appeared when he first woke. Beyond his shoulder Oghren was stepping into his bulky boots, his eye narrowed and trained on the direction of the sound.

As though she had just been thrown into a frozen lake, Hawke's mind awoke to clear, uncompromising panic with the memory of what that sound signified. Her hands found her daggers and her belt-pouch through reflex alone, and then she was on her feet.

Just as the ogre tore into sight and straight into their camp.

"Shit!" Hawke dove to one-side, her hand tangling into a feather pauldron as well as the strap of her pack, wrenching Anders along with her in time to avoid the tree-stump thick legs as they thundered passed. "What in Andraste's name happened?"

"The lout fell asleep!" Anders bellowed, his hand bursting into flames as he hurtled the first fireball into the following throng of darkspawn. Pausing only long enough to secure her pouch to her hip, Hawke spun to face off against the first creature that came upon her, slashing at whatever bared flesh she could find.

The battle was disorientating. Having had no opportunity to set eyes on their enemy prior to the fight, she had lost both the element of surprise and the chance to select her preferred target; luxuries she had become all too accustomed to over the years. Now she fought from a strictly survival mentality - there was no time to savor in her skills or the thrill of the electricity in her veins. For while she had faced larger hordes in the past, the ogre and the magic-wielding hurlock in their midst tipped the scales.

And this time Hawke's troupe was a party of just three.

"Hawke," Anders' voice called from somewhere behind her, "the mage!" Hawke spun and found their apostate dueling against the staff-wielding hurlock, which was presently glowing faintly from the magical shield it had erected; all but nullifying Anders' attempts to dispatch it.

"Get the ogre," she shouted above the commotion, "I'll take care of this one!" While they desperately needed the number of enemies diminished, the ogre was still rushing about like an enraged druffolo, making it all but impossible to pick a position and engage an enemy effectively. Yet with Anders distracting the colossus, and Oghren content to plant himself firmly in the midst of a swarm of darkspawn warriors, the pair could very well buy her enough time to at least take another substantial threat out.

Without giving her current situation further thought Hawke sprinted for the hurlock, ignoring the searing pain of frozen shards that shredded the skin of her hip and upper thigh as she spun and skipped lightly around atop the balls of her feet so that she could strike at the creature with all of the momentum he body could provide. As she whirled madly before her foe her daggers carved great gouges in the grotesque staff and flesh before her in rapid succession. Yet for all her impressive effort, the darkspawn mage staggered and then rallied, throwing off cracking blue lightening that sent Hawke evasively skidding away on her boot soles and heals of her hands before rushing back in-

-only to be knocked back bodily by a fully developed fireball.

Unthinking of anything beyond the heat enveloping her Hawke shrieked, dropping to the ground and rolling about as she beat at the flames with her laden fists, slicing into her own legs with her daggers in her panic.

 _"Hawke!"_ The terror in Anders' voice as he screamed to her only succeeded in intensifying her own horror, and without thought beyond the searing pain at her torso and thighs, she continued flailing even when a dark figure over her began buffeting her burning clothing with her. "Just hold on, Hawke! I'm here! I'm here!"

Somehow reason returned to her enough for her to understand that it was Anders above her, dousing the flames. When at last the last lick of fire had been snuffed from her body she reached for her belt pouch with trembling, raw hands, pushing Anders away with her arm.

"Go!" She insisted, pulling a glass vial from the pack as she stood. "I'll be fine!" Anders was away from her instantly, understanding all too well the danger they faced in grouping up at the moment. Neither possessed the fortitude to cover physical attacks for the both of them.

Pouring the entirety of the healing potion down her throat, Hawke felt the tingling itch of healing wounds and burns over her body as she circled around again to the hurlock, which now watched Anders intently as he moved across their makeshift battlefield. Employing every bit of her stealth abilities to avoid detection until she was behind the creature, Hawke plunged her daggers just beneath the base of its skull before spreading her arms and splitting its neck, showering herself in its blood.

Beyond the falling hurlock blue light glowed brightly from the other side of the battlefield - Oghren had been knocked unconscious amidst the genlocks that still stood and Anders was beside him, working to revive the dwarf while fending off the surviving darkspawn that circled them. Yet it was clearly difficult to wield his staff from a crouch on the ground, and when a darkspawn blade sliced open his forearm the mage cried out, fumbling his staff as he did.

Immediately Hawke rushed in, positioning herself between her comrades and their foes. It was foolish and dangerous and nearly suicidal, but if Anders fell before he could heal and revive Oghren they were all as good as dead.

Or at least they would wish they were.

Her daggers flashed as she fended off blades from multiple sides, howling for Anders to hurry. She knew perfectly well that she was at a disadvantage here. She could not afford to employ stealth for the sake of the others, could not move from her spot to dance around her quarry or else sacrifice the healer and the warrior, and possessed nowhere hear enough strength to hold this many darkspawn at bay for long.

And then, as if to prove how ineffective she was at playing the warrior class, an arrow impaled her left shoulder and she grunted, unable to pause in her desperate fighting to tear the thing free or even break it off to avoid jostling it. Yet her left arm moved awkwardly, preventing her from striking away the second arrow as it pierced her armor and buried itself between the ribs at her side. The cry that wrenched from her throat was more surprised horror than pain. The archer was trying for her heart.

 _"Anders?!"_ There was no point in false bravado; she was about to die if they didn't-

"The Void take you - get up!" The mage roared behind her, and in response plate mail clattered as a rough voice grunted at her back.

"Eh? Wha-? Aye. Get out of my way, you walking pincushion!" Without bothering to bristle at the insult Hawke stepped aside as Oghren barreled through like the ogre they had by some miracle of the Maker _not_ fallen to these passed few seconds. His axe swung out wide; slicing through air and drawing great gouts of blood from several of the beasts that had surrounded Hawke moments before. As though possessed Oghren drew the genlocks to him, shouting taunts and battle cries as he flung his axe wildly at whatever moved near him; his roar a near constant litany of wordless rage.

Pain and nausea rolled through her body in waves and Hawke doubled over, dry-heaving uselessly as her hand reaching up to wrap around the shaft at her side; the straining of her abdominal muscles tearing a new path of fire across her ribs.

"Don't touch it," Anders reached for her, his hands already glowing blue as he braced his staff against his side, and this time she did not flinch away. Setting a deft hand to the arrow Anders dislodged the projectile with a single pull, shushing her as she cried out and placing hands flaring blue over the open wound immediately.

Yet the merciful kiss of his magic hadn't even passed beyond skin-deep when the massive purple-grey shadow was upon them, and Hawke screamed wordlessly.

Instantly forgetful of her pain and injuries, Hawke threw herself bodily against the mage's shoulder, toppling him off to one side as the horned crown dropped lower, colliding with her head and shoulder and sending her skittering like a stone across a pond's surface; stopping only when she collided with the wall some twenty paces back.

For a moment she simply lay there, unable to form a single coherent though, until at last the sound of a terrible roar filling the chamber caught her attention through the ringing in her ears.

Her first instinct had been to get to her feet, yet she found that it was impossible to move. Every limb felt as heavy and useless as shapeless lumps of smelted metal. Thankfully, though, the pain that had been radiating from every part of her being was slowly ebbing away, replaced by a fatigue she welcomed without hesitation.

Opening the one eye that would respond to her wishes, Hawke glimpsed a figure bathed in blue lunging at the ogre with a sword nearly as long as its wielder was tall. She watched with a detached fascination as long, black tears opened on the ogre's skin, bleeding black rivulets down grey flesh to the pavers beneath. Great clawed hands raked out towards its newest assailant only to have one of the appendages mangled by the deadly blade. Moments passed and Hawke continued to watch the blue light moved relentlessly against the darkspawn, spilling something dark and wet from its belly. The monster's growl gargled into a low whine as it pitched forward onto its knees, impaling its head from beneath the chin onto the great sword that had brought it down.

Further off in the distance she could hear the persistent roaring and clashing metal of a small skirmish, until that, too, died away and their surroundings fell silent.

And dark.

Dark but for the blue glow which was now right before her eye, kneeling and pulling at her face with armored hands before it flickered and dimmed into the shadowed figure of a man. "Vehedes!" Though the tone of the word was furious, Hawke felt oddly happy. She knew that shadow tipped in silver... and at that moment it seemed completely natural that he should be there.

Fenris had come for her.

"I remember that one," she mumbled around a mouthful of hot copper, "it means... means..."

A metal-tipped thumb traced lightly over her lips. "Save your strength," he commanded quietly, then turned his head in the direction of another shadow. "Mage - do something!" The figure at his side was moving; pushing him aside.

"Out of my way," It was Anders, and she could feel his soft grip take the place of Fenris' gauntlets, his hands sliding through her hair to rest his fingertips at the base of her skull. "Hawke? Hawke, you stay with me. Do you hear me? Stay with me."

Hawke hummed obediently, and felt the cool tingle of healing magic plunge through her, lacing down her spine and up to her scalp; spreading through her insides and down into her limbs. Above her Anders face drew taught. "Maker... this is bad."

"Keep your thoughts to yourself!" The warrior beside him spat and Hawke scowled, or considered scowling, at any rate. Her face felt oddly numb despite the tingle that was trying to flood her.

"No... fighting." She slurred, her eye slipping closed.

"Hawke?!" Fenris' voice sounded angry and yet something else. Not frightened; Fenris was never afraid. Yet it _did_ sound strangely like fear to her...

She wanted to open her eyes, to respond, but her body was stone, and she instead contented herself to drift off, away from her body and the last of the pain. Beyond the darkness Fenris' voice rose in fevered pitch, yet quieter to her ears now. "Hawke! No! I will not allow it!"

She could hear Anders' voice then; the words unrecognizable to her.

But, it didn't matter, she thought.

And then she thought no more.

 

XXXX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used to hate writing fight scenes. I always found the end result boring, or repetitive. But I've slowly become more comfortable with writing these scenes, and now I have to say that when I really get going they can be exciting to envision. You literally have to play the scene out in your head as you go to make sure it makes sense. I just hope that it is as exciting to read as it is to write.
> 
> I crave me some feedback - so let me have it if you've got it! ;)


	10. Her Family's Legacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke wakes from her injuries to find that her lover has returned to her side. Yet the joy of their reunion is disrupted when the former Champion finds her world turned on its end. Revelations come to light, and in their presence Hawke cannot even turn to her stalwart lover for aid.
> 
> Hope is but a thin, frayed thread, with the knife of reality pressing to it.

** **

 

##  ACT TEN: HER FAMILY'S LEGACY

 

The sound of whispers tickled at her senses, so hushed they were barely perceptible, and Hawke's eyes fluttered open to the view of a damp stone-chiseled ceiling above her just as the voices died away.

H er first cognitive thought was that an unknown amount of time had passed since she had fallen on the battlefield. She was not certain how exactly she was aware of this, only that she was, and that it was disjointing, for there had been no dreams or trip to the Fade to mark that passage of time. Only the absolute lack of self from the moment she had been sprawled on her belly until now gave indication, and the softness of a bedroll which had taken the place of cold stone beneath her.

Coupled with her mental distress was a physical discomfort of sorts. She did not feel broken or injured. It was more of a sensation of being hollowed out; like a sponge that had been wrung dry; her legs tingling with the need for movement gradually overtaking her lethargy.

Unable to stand the sensations plaguing her any longer, Hawke pushed herself up to her elbows, swiveling her head to take in her surroundings.

" You're awake! "  The soft utterance was immediately accompanied by a hand at her back and another beneath her clavicle, holding her carefully while trying to coax her back down. "Lie back, Hawke. It's alright."

She resisted his gentle push, turn ing towards  her companion quizzically. "Anders?" The name came out a hoarse croak, as though her body had forgotten how how to ply her voice. "What's happened? Where are we?"

"The Deep Roads," The apostate explained, still trying to guide her gently to the bedroll beneath her though she would not have it . "Oghren  scouted ahead and found this place further down from where we were ambushed. Some sort of ancient guard shed, it seems. The important thing is that it had an iron  door , and a place for me to tend to you." He shook his head, scowling. "I must admit, if Fenris hadn't arrived when he did I would-"

"You would have what?" A voice beyond his shoulder demanded suspiciously, and Hawke's insides twisted and warmed simultaneously at the sound; her lungs momentarily unable to draw breath.

He was here.

The golden eyes before her peered down at her cautiously; his head tipping to her as though in confidence. "Hawke, you don't have to-"

"Anders," she interrupted quickly, meeting his gaze with a warning look of her own. She did not want to give him the chance to say something that would only make her angry. At this moment she wanted to avoid anger at all costs - including her own. "Would you give us some privacy, please?"

Reluctance painted the man's features clearly, yet to Hawke's relief the unspoken truce between them remained, and Anders backed away, turning towards the door. "Alright. If you're sure. I'll just... see how Oghren is coming with his nug hunting, then." 

One last unspoken exchange with the elf halted his progress - her view obstructed by Anders' position - and after that the mage was gone, leaving her alone with Fenris. The sound of another door closing heavily echoed from the other room. Then nothing.

Her insides squirmed nervously and Hawke twisted to sit at the edge of the raised platform she had slept upon, readying herself to break the silence, yet Fenris did not wait for her to lead.

"I can't stop thinking about that night." He murmured, not quite meeting her gaze as he spoke, and she stilled at the remorse which colored that rich baritone she so loved. "I allowed my hatred of blood magic to consume me, and in doing so I blinded myself to your words. Though I may not entirely agree even now, I admit that I can see some validity in your point. The magic is done, and there is nothing for it. That you now tread down the path already laid to find some shred of good at its end is in your nature. I have known this about you for years. I should have anticipated then that you would agree to this mission." 

At last his eyes lifted to Hawke's, and she saw there pain the likes of which she had not known him to express previously, her own heart crying out in a silent echo of his. "And when I think of how close I came to losing you," he admitted slowly, "of how I almost watched you die before me..."

"What happened in that battle was not your fault," Hawke argued. "Blaming yourself for it is the same as me blaming myself for Kirkwall. You couldn't have known what would come of it." There was the briefest moment of silence as Fenris allowed her words to settle in.

"Perhaps," he conceded, closing the distance between them tentatively. "But I must ask; can you forgive me now, Hawke? Am I too late?"

Her breath caught. Here he was, speaking the words she had thought he deserved from her; asking for  _ her _ forgiveness. Vertigo caught her and she fisted the blankets beneath her if only to anchor herself to something real. "I will disappoint you again, Fenris," she breathed. "I can't change who I am, or what I believe in. Not even for you. Doesn't that bother you?"

"Does it bother you that I will likely always carry this mistrust of mages? Would you ask me to change who I am for you?" Hawke's lips parted yet the man before her pressed on. "There is no need to respond - you already have. Not once have you ever asked me to let go of my hatred of magic. Nor have you tried to sway me to share in your sympathies, or your care for your mage companions. You have respected my beliefs while remaining true to your own. I would be a fool to wish a woman such as you to be anything other than what you are."

"So that's it then?" Hawke asked. "We forget this whole fight ever happened?"

"No," Fenris replied firmly, "forgetting means we will not learn from it, and I for one wish to remember the lesson that I learned here."

"And what lesson is that?"

Reaching out with hands naked of their armor coverings, Fenris took her face gently into his palms. "That nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you." It was a statement spoken with all of the conviction of a man who would not be swayed.

Hawke's heart leapt and with it the vertigo tightened its grip. Her hands reached up to clutch at his arms and she felt the pressure against one of her cheeks increase as the room around her tilted slightly. Before her Fenris scowled.

"You're not yet well," he observed, taking hold of her shoulders so that he could guide her to the bedroll; the act gentle, but firm enough for her to find resisting difficult. "Rest now. We can finish our discussion later."

Despite having just regained consciousness a few minutes prior, Hawke's eyes were all too willing to slide closed once more; her stomach instantly settling when that much-loved scent of leather, minerals, and masculinity enveloped her as overly-warm lips brushed against hers. When a brow tousled with silken strands rested against her own she sighed contentedly, her breath mingling with his.

And before Fenris could pull himself from the tactile display, Hawke was once again asleep.

 

XXXX

 

They were whispering about her. She could hear them, though their hushed tones made the words and the identities of the speakers indiscernible. At first she thought they were right beside her, they were so close. But when she opened her eyes she found that the lights in her room had been doused, while firelight flickered from the open door to the other room.

For what must have been two full days by her estimate, she had endured the furtive glances Anders had given her whenever he came to check on her; obviously wishing to speak to her, yet never coming out and saying anything beyond his responses to her distaste at being bedridden. In his opinion Hawke was not yet well enough to travel, though the rogue soon began to wonder if the delay had something to do with Fenris' arrival. Anders always seemed to close up when the darker man was in the room; the new habit even more irksome than his heated outbursts. At least when he fought openly Hawke knew the cause. But here she could not be certain. And so as the days stretched on the conversations between her and the apostate healer slowly shifted from polite acquaintanceship to forced civility as their patience with each other frayed.

And then there had been her lover. She still marveled at his return, not understanding exactly how she had earned such unyielding loyalty from this man in spite of her faults. Yet he had come for her, and she decided she would not question it further. Instead she allowed him to try to placate her in his own way, and would not complain about her incapacitation as he sat by her side for hours speaking with her, though never supporting her rebellious need to leave her blankets. For, while he was quick to cast Anders aside or argue with the apostate when a topic allowed, he would sit in silence and simply watch whenever Anders would remind her that she should not push herself. It was the closest thing to an accord she had ever known the two to have and, had it not come about at her expense, she might have subtly encouraged it.

But now, on the third day of her recovery, the whispers and the tingling and her nerves gradually got the better of her, until at last Hawke decided for herself that she was well enough. Pushing herself unhindered to her feet, and satisfied to feel her legs hold her weight steadily, she made her way to the main room of their tiny shed.

The whispers stopped before she reached the doorway, and she watched as three sets of eyes lifted up to her from their various tasks when she emerged.

"Why am I not surprised," Anders sighed resignedly from his place beside the fire. "You should be resting, Hawke."

"I've had quite enough rest," she said irritably, nearly spitting the last word with her newfound distaste for it. "When are we moving on?" From his seat across the cook fire Fenris arched one brow at her but said nothing.

"When you're well enough." The mage replied, a bit more firmly then usual, and Hawke pondered briefly if his bedside manner only applied when his patient was actually in bed.

"I'm standing, aren't I?" She asked, moving forward to circle the fire with confident, strong strides, "I'm walking. But I am most assuredly not sleeping."

"I have a poultice that can help with that," Anders offered, reaching for his pack, and Hawke felt her frazzling patience gutter like a candle.

"I don't want help with that," she snapped, "I want to reach Avernus! We have a mission to complete, and waiting around here while I sleep for days is not helping anyone!"

"You just don't get it, do you?" Anders stood, and beside her Fenris was on his feet as well, glowering at the mage darkly. "You have no idea how close you came to dying! Do you know that-"

"That's enough, mage." The elf growled, and with and angry slash of his arm Anders waived him off.

"No - it's not." He argued. "You almost died, Hawke. And if Fenris had not offered up his lyrium markings for me to draw from I would not have had strength enough to save you! You-"

His words died off abruptly as Hawke felt the blood drain from her face. There came a soft rustling at her side and she held a hand out to ward off her would-be assistance. "You..." she lifted her gaze to the green eyes before her. "You let him draw from your markings?"

The thought horrified her. To simply touch his tattoos was enough to cause him pain. But for a mage to tap into their power...

"I have done so before for far less agreeable tasks," Fenris reminded her, "that it was done this time to save your life means that at last they have served a mage for a purpose I deem worthy."

"But the pain-" she argued weakly, and Fenris' eyes narrowed.

"Is already gone," he finished petulantly. "And you are not. It is an exchange I would gladly make again. Now," his scowl darkened and he pulled her to the place before the fire he had just vacated, "if you will not return to your bed, you will at least sit here before the fire and eat."

Hawke grimaced, not feeling particularly fond of either idea. But at least sitting before the fire got her off of the bedroll, and so she moved to take the seat offered, taking note of the laden spit over the fire. Oghren's hunting had apparently paid off, and she watched Fenris carve her a serving from the nug's shoulder, holding the plate out to her when he had finished. He must have noticed her apprehension as well, for his brow crooked in gentle warning. "If you do not regain your full strength we will not be going anywhere, Hawke." He murmured, and reluctantly she reached out and took the small meal, shoving hunks of cooked meat into her mouth before she could dwell on how much she did not want to eat just then. The first mouthful was washed down with a swallow of tepid water, and she followed up with a second bite, wishing to finish as quickly as possible if only-

Her stomach coiled and she had only enough time to lurch from her seat and throw open the door into the main passages with a deafening bang, where her body forcibly rejected what she had just eaten.

"Shit," she muttered when the clenching had passed, wiping her lower lip and bracing herself against the cold wall opposite their hiding place. The blood pounded in her temples uncomfortably and she pressed her brow to the stone to sooth the ache. 

A scuffling arose at her back from which she heard Anders' voice arise, anger resonating clearing in his words. "You can't be serious. I'm not going to eat her, Fenris. Now will you go back inside the Blighted shed and give me two minutes to tend to her without you scowling at my back?"

A course obscenity was spat in response, and Hawke recognized it from her tutelage weeks ago. Yet the door clanged shut noisily just as warm, soft hands rested on her back and shoulder.

"Has it passed?" Gone was the ire that had clouded his voice moments ago; replaced with the gentle timbre he had effected with her so frequently in prior years.

"I think so," she murmured, turning around to shrug sheepishly at her companion. "Remind me the next time we fight an ogre to wear a decent helmet. Do you think Oghren will spare his?"

Anders' expression took on a slightly skeptical appearance, and he appraised her for only a moment before he spoke. "Tell me that you honestly didn't know." Hawke scowled at him in response.

"What didn't I know?"

"Of course you didn't." He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I suppose that makes sense, though."

"Anders-"

"You're not injured, Hawke," Anders announced quietly, "not anymore. You're pregnant."

 

 

XXXX

 

The world stopped and Hawke sat motionless, allowing the word and its meaning to resonate within her mind. 

Pregnant.

She was pregnant.

At first the word made no sense to her. It was as foreign as Fenris' Tevene curses had been before her lessons. Yet she forced herself to stop and consider the meaning - to apply it to herself as Anders had. It took a few moments, perhaps even longer, but at last she began to comprehend what it was he had just told her. Pregnant meant a child. It meant motherhood. It meant tiny hands and feet and a little mouth that needed feeding and-

And panic flooded her system. How could  _ she _ be pregnant? Never mind the physical requirements of it - she knew  _ how _ . But  _ her _ ?

"No," she whispered. "No, no, no. No this can't be real. Anders, you're wrong, aren't you? Tell me you're wrong."

"I promise you that I'm not," he replied gently; by his expression he seemed to have been expecting this. "While I was healing you I discovered it, and that you were on the verge of losing it. I didn't know if you knew or not - if you wanted it or not - but I knew that I couldn't just let it die." Anders' admission told Hawke far more than she wanted to know about how much he had done for her after that battle; about why Fenris' lyrium had been so vital. 

Anders had not saved one life that day - he had saved two. 

"I've been trying to ask you about it for days," the mage continued when she did not speak, "but I couldn't. Not with the others so close by. I felt you should have the right to keep it private, if that was your choice."

"My choice?" She shook her head in puzzlement. "What do you mean?"

"If you wanted Fenris to know at all," Anders replied. "After what happened-"

Hawke bristled instantly. "You think  _ Fenris _ is the problem here?" She demanded incredulously. "He's the father, Anders. He  _ needs _ to know. Andraste knows I've not yet been able to keep one member of my family alive - and they were all grown! Now a baby...?"

Despair consumed her, and Hawke sank to her rump trying desperately to keep her tears at bay; the fingers of one hand splayed across her eyes when she feared she could not contain them. 

She had not placed much thought into having children; her life in Kirkwall had not been conducive to raising a family. Yet she had always loved children. They were the hope for a world which had otherwise gone mad. There was always the hope that the next generation would be wiser, kinder.

And now she carried one inside of her; a sweet, innocent mixture of herself and Fenris-

-and she would fail it, as she had the others. A tear slipped down her cheek, burning hot against her skin. 

"Hawke, no, you're wrong!" Anders crouched before her, resting one hand on her shoulder consolingly, "Bethany's still out there. She has to be."

"Bethany is alive because of you," Hawke countered, lowering her hand so that she could meet his gaze. "Because you had the maps that lead to the Wardens, they were able to help her. If you hadn't been there she'd be dead, and I-"

Her words cut off when Anders' head abruptly swiveled in the direction of the darkened passage further on, his features hardening, while at his back the door to the shed opened almost simultaneously.

"Hate to put an end to your healer business," Oghren growled to the former Grey Warden, "but we've got visitors. Unless you want to try your hand at a fight, get your skirts in here so we can shore up the door."

Before she could react Hawke was pulled to her feet as Anders hauled the pair of them back into the shed; Oghren and Fenris immediately pushing large pieces of fallen masonry and a broken stone table against the metal door as it clanged shut. Reflexively Hawke's hands reached back behind her shoulders; remembering too late that she was not armed.

"My daggers," she demanded, "where are they?"

"You're not fighting." Anders barked and with that Hawke cast him an incredulous look; her prior despair buried beneath the need to defend against an immediate threat.

"Of course not. I should just stand here and look properly frail." She replied flatly, recalling the way a similar comment from him had grated her back in Kirkwall. "Surely the darkspawn will take pity on me."

Something broad and hard tapped at her stomach and Hawke looked down to see Oghren's armored fist against her shirt, her blades in his grasp. With a murmur of thanks she accepted the weapons, partially pulling them from their sheaths to find they had been cleaned and oiled. 

Before the door the remaining two companions of their party eyed the dwarf with furious gazes as she moved to the corner where her armor lay, yet Oghren only sneered in response.

"You ever see a brood mother, lover-boy?" He growled at Fenris, and when Anders cringed and lifted reluctant eyes to her Hawke resisted the urge to shudder; cinching the buckle at her side all the more tightly instead. "Trust me," the dwarf continued, "you don't want to. Better she have her blades. At least then she can cut her own throat if it comes to it."

An enraged snarl split Fenris' face, yet his eyes leapt from the dwarf to the sealed door, as from the other side the sounds of scuffling feet and guttural calls emanated through the corridor. The noises died off briefly, and then the metal panel shook with a loudly resonating clang. Seconds passed and then another blow rang the metal door like a dissonant bell, and within the shed weapons immediately went to hand.

"It's a scouting party," Anders breathed, "they're not trying to get in."

"Aye," Oghren growled, "just holding us in place until the others get here. Sneaky bastards." Fenris' scowling at the door darkened.

"Then we should overtake them now while we have the chance."

"Agreed." Anders stepped towards the door. "There should be no more than four or five." He gaze swung first to Oghren and then at Fenris, clearly understanding that though he may not like either of them, he now had to rely on their cooperation for his survival.

Their unspoken agreement reached, Fenris turned a piercing stare on Hawke, his focus solely on her. "Tell me honestly Hawke; are you fit for battle?" Of course he would not attempt to order her to stay behind. He would simply rely on her honor to hold her in place. The man was more cunning than he had a right to be.

She wanted to tell him everything then; craved it even. She needed his assurance to buoy her now more than ever. But now was not the time. Not with a battle right outside their door. Her daggers found their sheaths and she shook her head in resignation.

"I'll get our supplies," she offered, "you three go and clear the way." And with that she immediately made for the other room where she began gathering the rest of her gear. As she worked, Hawke listened to the others remove the barricade and wrench open the door; the bright orange glow of one of Anders' fireballs exploding into existence and filling both chambers briefly with its light. 

Hearing the battle move outside the shed, the clash of weaponry and crackling of magic obliterating the battle cries of ally and beast alike, Hawke returned to the main room. The flashes of motion and light which immediately caught her attention through the opened door were partially obstructed by a figure bearing a head of dimly shining silver. Fenris fought from a sentry's position, barring any that would try to reach her. 

With a conscious effort Hawke pulled her eyes from the well-toned back presented to her, the irrational urge to go to him stamped down as she forced herself to focus on her self-assigned task. Glass vials, cloth-wrapped parcels, and packages of food were swept into the backpacks and satchels scattered about the room, taking note that one such pouch was the very one she had abandoned in Ghislain; carefully cleaned and containing the oils that Fenris often used to tend to his gauntlets and sword. Hawke felt a small tug at her heart at the meaning behind the act and loaded the bag with healing potions and poultices before returning to the other room to pull on her boots and gloves.

"Hawke?!" Anders' voice called from the main room, and she rushed back into the main room. 

"Here!" She called, scooping up the waiting packs and tossing Anders' own bag to him. "Where are the others?"

"Outside," the apostate stepped aside so Hawke could exit the shed, fastening her own belt pouch to her hip. Before her Fenris and Oghren stood over the bodies of five genlocks with their blades bloodied but no worse for wear. Each was handed their gear; Fenris accepting the emblazoned pack with what may have been a hint of amusement beneath his steeled expression had Hawke the wherewithal to pay close enough attention.

"We need to move," the former Warden spoke up at Hawke's back, "the others are almost here."

Despite the knowledge that she should avoid further fighting, Hawke drew her blades. They were a comfort to hold, if nothing else. "Get us out of here, Anders."

And when the mage jogged off into the darkness the remaining three followed without hesitation.

 

XXXX

 

Hawke's stomach turned and she swallowed the saliva that welled within her mouth in response. For several hours she had been trudging along behind Anders, who had graciously taken the position at the fore for her, her tongue pressed tightly to the roof of her mouth in an effort to stave off the urge to heave.

Knowing now what caused her discomfort just made it all the more difficult to ignore, for it was a constant reminder that every second that passed was one in which she intentionally kept the truth from Fenris. Yet a worry had started to grow within her mind; one that stopped up her voice every time she opened her mouth to speak.

The moment she told Fenris he would undoubtedly insist that they leave the Deep Roads - cure in hand or not. She would not be able to fault him for that demand - a part of her even hoped that he would. But they were so close to reaching Avernus and completing their objective here. Just another day or so to the Grey Warden's sanctuary, if they encountered no delays, according to Anders and the Grey Warden. If she could just hold out until they reached the commander's accomplice she could retrieve the cure, tell Fenris about their child -  _ Maker, their child _ \- and then allow him to whisk her back to the surface with all of the impatient fury he was capable of. 

The thought of keeping this secret from him turned her stomach all the more, yet the thought of coming so far only to turn back just before the very end was unconscionable. She was here for something larger than herself and one baby. Even if it was hers.

_ "So the ends justify the means now?" _

Fenris' words from that horrible night in Ghislain filled her mind and unthinking she moaned miserably, instantly regretting the slip when two contrasting sets of eyes turned on her.

"Hawke?" Anders turned back from his lead to study her with that familiar gaze she had watched him adapt with so many people who had come to his clinic seeking healing. 

"It's nothing," she insisted, holding her hands up immediately, "I'm fine. Really. Let's keep moving." Beside her Fenris' eyes narrowed. 

"You are pale," he pointed out. "Perhaps we should stop."

"Rest will solve nothing," she announced, looking at Anders and hoping he would understand, "I just want to be done with the Deep Roads. The sooner we reach Avernus, the sooner we can go back to the surface."

"I agree," Anders added, and she could not tell if it was sincere or if he had caught on to her queues, "I've always hated the Blighted Deep Roads."

"Then why are you here? As I recall no one invited you." Fenris growled, stepping closer to the apostate; not outright threatening, but undeniably hostile.

"I've more reason to be here than you," Anders replied heatedly, "I took part in the Joining. If it works this cure could save my life. If you want to question someone's reasons for being here, question your own." 

It was the beginning of one of their squabbles she knew, and though it provided the distraction she had needed her mood still soured at the thought of having to listen to this go on for hours, as was sometimes the case.

"Fantastic," Hawke muttered impatiently, shouldering passed the pair as she continued along their path leisurely, "I'm moving on. When the two of you are done bloodying each other will the survivor please catch up?"

Words spoken too low to understand caught her ears again and Hawke's patience snapped. "And will you please stop whispering behind my back?!" She demanded, whirling on them angrily. "Really, I've had enough-"

Her companions were staring at her in various forms of confusion, yet all with sealed lips, until at last Fenris broke the tableau. "No one is whispering, Hawke." He said, his voice low and unsettled.

Hawke's eyes darted around their surroundings. "Then... who is?" She asked, her gaze coming back to skip from one person to the next. For a moment they all simply stared at one another. 

Then a look of dread crossed Anders' features; his effort to school his expression too late to disguise it. "Do you hear the voices now?" Vertigo began to claim her with the understanding that something was wrong, tilting the world before her sickeningly as she gave a slow nod; her mind working to puzzle out why Anders would look so stricken before at last coming to one conclusion.

_ Maker, no... _

Soft hands had her by her arms; were lowering her to sit at the stone beneath her, and Hawke did not fight them. Thumbs pulled up her eyelids, fingers pressed to her pulse points, yet all of it seemed a moot point by now. It was so similar...

Beside her Fenris' voice rumbled low and dangerous, like a thunderstorm rolling across the mountains, threatening destruction to any who found its fury. "You know what is happening to her, mage. Tell me."

Without pulling his hands or his eyes from her Anders replied, so quietly it was almost drown out by the whispers. "It's the taint. It's in her blood."

Fear gripped her insides; reaching out with icy tendrils to numb her fingers and tighten her throat. Beside Anders, her dark lover grew still, his eyes widening with unguarded shock.

"Fine," Oghren growled from behind the healer's back, "so she's got the taint. Avernus has a cure. And if that doesn't work she can try the Joining like her sister. I don't see what has you all so sodding worked up."

"No. It cannot be." Fenris replied flatly, not taking his eyes from Hawke. "You are mistaken."

"I'm not," Anders replied, calm in spite of the doubt which had just been placed on his abilities. "It effects everyone differently, but hearing voices after a fight with darkspawn leaves few other options to choose from."

"Then we will find this Avernus," Fenris growled, his hands reaching up to cup at Hawke's face firmly, "we will stop only when we can go no further. You will take the cure, and if it fails I will tear the beating heart from his chest - though not before he aids you in undergoing the Joining. I will not lose you, Hawke." Yet the rogue fighter shook her head, or rather she tried to from within her lover's grasp. 

"It's not that simple," she nearly moaned, lifting her gaze first to Anders before turning to her lover. "I'm pregnant, Fenris."

And all of that familiar, fierce determination bled from his face instantly, his brows lifting almost absurdly, and for a moment he was silent. "What?" He breathed at last.

"I found out just before we left the shed," she admitted, feeling her eyes well as she realized that she was afraid - afraid now that maybe he  _ wouldn't _ understand. That he would be angry - reject her even. The possibility was suddenly very real to her, though in complete contrast to her worry just ten minutes prior. Fenris was certainly not what came to mind when conjuring the image of a family man, she knew. "I wanted to tell you, but then we were attacked and..."

Her throat tightened when he stood, taking a few long strides away from her before turning back on her. "You didn't know?" The question was incredulous but also something else. Something so similar to the night they had fled Kirkwall; when Fenris had held Anders by his throat and all but begged Hawke to deny that she had played a knowing part in the apostate's crimes.

So similar to what Anders had asked her just before revealing to her that she carried a child within her. Both desperate for her to let them hold to their high regard for her.

Hawke shook her head. "I thought I had lost you, and I was miserable. I just assumed-"

And instantly Fenris was looming over the pair on the ground, sending Anders scrabbling out of the way so that he could crouch before Hawke again, taking her shoulders into the near painful grip of his armored hands. "You didn't know before you came here. Tell me that you didn't know."

"I didn't," she repeated, "I promise you. I just learned today. Anders told me he found it while healing me."

The silver head before her dropped and for a moment he simply held her there at arm's reach; his face obscured behind the drapings of his hair. The silence stretched on and Hawke felt her trepidation at what reaction she would receive grow until at last he drew her to his chest; his arms wrapping around her gently. For a moment he only held her, and in that silence her mind ran wild.

He would not reject her. He would stand beside her. But...

But there was no proof the cure would work. Nothing beyond the hearsay word of a blood mage. If it didn't work she might not necessarily die, but the child...

Not even one day known to her and she was already mourning its loss. It was a part of her, after all, and a part of him. She had feared that she would fail it, but to do so this quickly tore at her heart. Her body quaked once as she choked back a lone sob in silence, and the arms around her tightened in response.

"We will find the cure," he said quietly, "and it will work." His breath was hot against her neck, and his body trembled slightly against hers. Without thought she returned his embrace; disturbed when his breath shuddered as he exhaled.

"We will save you both, Raina," his voice was nearly a whisper and, after all of these years, Hawke recognized - without question - the fear that was now present in its velvet timbre. "I swear it."

 

XXXX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was able to knock this out in less than a month as requested! (Though just barely.)
> 
> Unless you play the jerk role, Hawke canonically has a good heart and a soft-spot for family. So I could absolutely see Hawke becoming instantly attached to the idea of a child - as well as terrified by her family's tendency to die early (and terribly.)
> 
> Enter said terrible death.
> 
> Much as in the game, Hawke just cannot catch a break.
> 
> Not much fighting this time, I know, but I hope that it was still engaging.


	11. In Death, Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grappling with one's conscience is never easy, but with more than just Hawke's life on the line, Fenris must place his trust with those he hates most. 
> 
> Some medicines are just too bitter to take.

 

## ACT ELEVEN: IN DEATH, SACRIFICE

 

 

Fenris clenched his teeth until his ears rang and his jaws ached, listening as her breath slipped through her lips in an erratic hiss from atop his shoulder. For hours she had traveled at his side as their party ventured further into the Deep Roads. If by nothing more than her own stubborn tenacity, Hawke had stoically matched pace with the elf and their guides until, whether by way of her inability to hold down food or the infection that coursed through her veins, her beleaguered body finally failed her. One moment she was jogging onward in silent determination, and the next she was splayed across the stone pathway before the dwarf's boots, having nearly been trampled underfoot, her expression befuddled in a way that set Fenris' heart thrumming with poorly contained panic.

Heedless of her protests and insistence that she need only a moment to catch her breath, Fenris had disarmed himself and thrust his sword into the hands of the abomination, his teeth bared in contempt of the trust he was now forced to grant, as he pulled Hawke onto his back and wrapped her thighs about his waist. She had continued her pleas to be turned loose for only a short time, until the rhythm of her breath slowed and softened, indicating she had at last succumbed to her exhaustion.

Hours later the warrior's arms burned and his feet throbbed beneath the constant press of her added weight. In spite of this, when that first labored rasp broke from her lips all physical misery was forgotten. Fueled by a dread which turned his insides to ice, Fenris drove their guides on with increased urgency, until at last the first of the blue and silver uniforms emerged from the dusty murk before them. They had come to the outpost which signaled the end of their journey; a sentry station meant to give the blood mage warning of intruder, according to the apostate at his side. And though the greeting they had received initially nearly brought Fenris to shed the woman at his back and retrieve his sword, a written missive from the Warden Commander - delivered by the dwarf along with a series of boastful claims and demands - secured the travelers curt apologies and an escort to the stronghold proper.

The Grey Warden encampment was not what Fenris had envisioned. Their infrequent trips into the Deep Roads has taught him that ruins within the passages were often uninhabitable, forcing travelers to camp in sheltered corners or nooks that could not be properly fortified, and yet the buildings of this fallen thaig had been remarkably well preserved.

Even still, that the blood mage had taken as his quarters the main hall of a fallen thaig, in spite of the surrounding smaller dwellings which lay in varying states states of improved repair, gave Fenris a creeping sense of foreboding. Images came to mind of the magisters of Tevinter and their ceaseless clamoring to elevate their own appearance of power, and unconsciously his grip on the woman upon his back tightened, suddenly all the more reluctant to trust her to the care of one who bore such similarities to that which he hated most in this world. Magisters did not offer assistance without expecting something in return, and took what they liked as recompense.

And while there was little that they possessed which Fenris could imagine a blood mage would desire, all that he could not bear to lose was now stretched along his spine. It was enough to give him reason to pause, yet the alternative of not seeking the mage's help was a certainty, and terrible enough to drive him onward when the doors to the thaig's hall opened wide.

Beyond the bronze doors a large breezeway stretched out before them; and further in a common room boasting a warm fire and several Wardens sitting down to a meal as their eyes turned on the newcomers curiously but without a word in question. It seemed to Fenris that their arrival may have been anticipated; the thought giving him more cause for caution than relief.

After passing through a handful of corridors and living chambers, the small party was at last permitted entry to the largest room yet: a former counsel hall of some fashion which now bore emptied animal cages of all sizes, tables littered with bottles, books and scattered pieces of parchment, and a man - as consumed and corrupt as any blood mage should appear - standing upon a raised platform stretched along the far wall; his near skeletal face pinched in a contemptuous frown until he set eyes upon Fenris' precious burden.

"I had thought the Commander wished to test the serum herself," the blood mage admitted, clearly still annoyed with the company he now kept, "not send a test subject in her place. Perhaps she lacks the stomach she thought she had."

"This is the Champion of Kirkwall," the abomination spoke quickly, before Fenris could let loose the demand that had been perched upon his tongue. "She was infected during our journey to recover the cure for Commander Valeria Therin. The Champion wishes to take the Commander's place as the first to test your cure."

The Grey Warden peered at Hawke through cold, predatory eyes, and Fenris shifted his stance, placing himself more squarely between the vile creature and Hawke; his eyes narrowing in unspoken warning. "It makes no difference to me," the mage announced after a time, "one subject is as good as the next. Well don't just stand there. Bring her."

With a compounding sense of trepidation, his teeth grinding almost audibly, Fenris stepped forward to follow the mage in spite of how his skin crawled-

-when the woman upon his back jerked violently against him and began to scream, giving Fenris only enough time to pitch his weight forward in an effort to prevent her from thrusting herself out of his grip and onto the floor beneath them. Immediately the blood mage was waiving for two of the Wardens who had acted as escort to the travel party.

"Restrain her."

"You will not touch her!" The warrior snarled, carefully lowering his charge to the floor so that he might kneel to gather her into his arms; the abomination sidestepping the pair to place himself quietly between the prone woman and the men who had been summoned. "Hawke," Fenris called firmly, yet without the rage that had tinged his voice only a heartbeat prior. "Hawke, be still."

"Her hysterics do her no service," the decrepit creature spoke again, "strike her if you must."

"Do not tempt me, mage," Fenris' growl emanated from deep in his chest, yet there was no further time to consider his threat, for the screams at his chest gave way to deep, wracking coughs, and then a choked voice.

"F-Fenris?" She croaked at at last, her bleary eyes lifting to his. She looked so pale; it drove a spike of fear through his heart. "Are you real? Maker... my dream... it also felt real."

"It was." The man upon the dais replied flatly, striding to one of the cluttered tables where he began gathering vials filled with dark liquids. "You are infected. Your dream was undoubtedly the archdemon calling to you."

Against his chest, Fenris watched as Hawke's uncertainty cleared from her eyes while her gaze lifted to the ancient creature addressing her. "You are Avernus?" It was as much a statement as it was an inquiry and, removing herself from Fenris' hold, Hawke cautiously pushed herself to her feet. "My name is Hawke."

"Yes, yes," the blood mage gestured at her with one laden hand dismissively, returning to his inspection of several vials, "your friend already told me what you are after. And I will tell you the same thing that I told him - It is of no matter to me who takes the serum. My only concern is that it works as it should."

"And if it does not?" Fenris demanded, rising to stand at Hawke's side. "If your cure fails, what options remain?"

"What. To stop the Calling?" The question was enough to temporarily capture his attention. "Ah. The question you are asking if she can take part in the Joining." The blood mage deduced, returning his focus to his various tasks. "The answer is no. The serum contains properties that directly strike out at the Taint. If it fails it will be because the serum is not yet compatible with a human body, but it will still be present in her blood, thus preventing the Taint from taking hold as the Joining requires." A sneer further marred his wrinkled face as he snorted derisively. "Better she dies quickly if it comes to that."

It had been delivered as matter-of-factly as one would describe some mundane chore, and Fenris felt his heart began to thrum wildly beneath his breast in response. There would be no alternative. Nothing to save her, or their unborn babe - a concept he denied himself the right to consider thus far. That he had earned claim to Hawke's heart was unimaginable enough - the fact that she now carried their child was more than he ever dared imagine. Cowardly though it may be, Fenris refused to think on what they had created together for now, and focused solely on the risk that now threatened what was already known and precious to him.

Yet Hawke was not so easily deterred, her weight shifting on her legs as she watched the robed man carefully, speaking the words Fenris refused to utter.

"And if it works?" She asked, her expression tight. "If the serum is compatible... will it cure my child as well?"

If the blood mage had lacked proper enthusiasm before, he had found it in abundance now, for his head snapped upright; his attention raptly fixed upon the woman at Fenris' side. "You are with child?" He asked mildly, yet with a hint of an excitement that curdled the warrior's stomach. "Interesting... Most interesting." The vials stilled, all but forgotten in his grasp, as the Warden appraised her for a time, muttering half articulated thoughts to himself as the black beads of his eyes remained fixated upon her.

"We will increase the dosage for you to ensure that it has every chance of success." He announced at last, gathering up additional vials into his boney grasp. "In theory it will cure you both, though I do not know what effects the Taint may have already had upon the fetus. Perhaps nothing. Perhaps something. Time is the key factor in battling the Taint, and the greatest variable."

The creature's eyes gleamed with ill-concealed anticipation and, at his thigh, Fenris' fist clenched spasmodically; his foreboding compounding with every moment they were in this loathsome man's presence. The excitement of being the first to claim something of note was a concept Fenris knew well to be an attractant of those bent on establishing their own superiority, and this husk of a man now saw Hawke and their child as such a lure.

"Enough of your talk." Fenris barked, "we've come for a reason. Give us the cure and we will take our leave of this place."

"No. She takes it here." The mage replied firmly, his eyes trained upon Hawke as though she were a prized possession he feared the theft of; a sentiment Fenris echoed for a completely different reason. "If it fails I must know. This experiment is for naught otherwise."

From Hawke's opposite flank the abomination scowled darkly, gesturing with one pale hand. "The Commander would not have taken the cure here," he argued, "how is it that Hawke should be different?"

"I report directly to the Warden Commander," the ancient Warden countered; his eyes never leaving the woman at Fenris' side. "News of her death as a result of the serum would have traveled to me quickly enough. Yours I cannot guarantee would reach me, however. If you wish to take the Commander's place as my first test subject, these are my terms. You may accept them, or you may leave empty handed."

"And if I decide to tear out your heart and take your cure from your corpse?" Fenris growled. A grin as menacing and grotesque as any abomination Fenris had ever laid eyes upon stretched across the mage's distorted features as he extended his arms outward invitingly.

"If you wish to kill me, be quick about it," the blood mage sneered, lifting a finger in Hawke's direction, "but know that it will come at the expense of her life. The serum has not yet been fabricated, and I'll not give you the formula until I have witnessed its viability."

"Then create your mixture," Hawke ordered, her posture and tone once more that of the woman who had captivated Fenris so thoroughly years ago in Kirkwall. "I'll take it here."

Satisfaction replaced smug threats in the wrinkled features before them, and yet Fenris viewed the man as no less a threat. The only thing which stayed his hand from pulling the blade from Anders' back was the knowledge that Hawke had not yet been rid of the Taint in her veins. Until she was cured Fenris could not act in a manner that could jeopardize everything; no matter how his fingers burned to cleave their way into the blood mage's ribcage.

The Grey Warden's voice broke in a disgusting wet laugh. "Good." Vials were deposited and others lifted from the table before him with purpose. "Come forward. Not you." The decrepit mage added when Fenris took steps to follow. Beside him Hawke cocked a brow.

"You said I had to take it here," she stated firmly, "and I have agreed to your condition. But the father of my child will be allowed to stand at my side when I do so."

Another scoff barked from the walking corpse's throat, yet his dismissive wave was enough indication to Fenris that he would find no further protest to his presence; not that protests would have kept him at bay. Nothing short of spell work would have done that, and even then it would have been a temporary delay.

Together the pair climbed the short steps to the platform the blood mage prowled atop, following his command to stand to one side while the Warden mixed noxious liquids and powders into a flask, until the nearly-black concoction fizzed slightly and then settled. With hands far steadier then they should be given their withered appearance, the mage placed the flask upon the table, followed by a wooden cup of what appeared to be simple water, and stepped back.

"You will drink it all," he commanded, "and once you begin do not stop. When you have consumed it fully you will remain here while I take note of its effects, as well as a sample of your blood to confirm that it is clear of the Taint. You will not leave this place until my data is compiled. Agreed?"

Hawke gazed at the receptacle without expression before at last tearing her eyes from the glass and lifting them to the mage. "You have my word." She vowed, and then those same piercing blue eyes were upon the warrior, and Fenris recognized her expression as one that betrayed her knowledge that she was about to upset him. Perhaps strongly.

"If this doesn't work," she said quietly, her voice quaking gently, "don't let me die a monster. Send me to the Maker and my family as someone they will recognize."

The blood in his veins rushed in a furious current, and his heart kicked against his ribs violently in response to her request. She was asking for him to murder her. To give up. She had been right to worry at upsetting him. "Fasta Vas!" The obscenity was hissed through bared teeth which flashed from his unrestrained scowl, "do not-"

"Please Fenris," she responded softly; nearly a whisper, and with real fear naked in her eyes, "you remember what Oghren said before? In the shed? Don't let me become that."

Broodmother. He had heard rumors alone of the creatures which birthed the darkspawn; stories which always rang too similar in any part of Thedas to be myth. The reaction the abomination had displayed in the shed, coupled with the muted attempts at assurances from beyond the dais, told Fenris the man had laid eyes on such a creature before. If Fenris could not save Hawke from such a fate the mage would try, he knew.

Fury spiked within the warrior impotently; for who was there to be outraged at? The snarl upon his lips was consciously smothered, and for her sake he buried his hostility as deeply as he could. If this was to be their last exchange he would not send her away in anger. The urge to allow his fury to resurface came on swiftly, and he fought it down with effort.

If this was to be their last exchange he would be the man she deserved. If only this once.

If only one last time.

"It... will be done," he murmured quietly, his hand lifted to her cheek briefly. "But you made me a promise in the desert. Do not break it, Hawke. Not now."

Hawke nodded, though she did not actually speaking her thanks. No doubt she knew that this was not a request one thanked another for agreeing to. Briskly she strode to the table, Fenris on her heels, and lifted the container to her lips. With a final glance that held Fenris' gaze more raptly than any she had ever given him, Hawke tipped her head back and began to swallow; a grimace of disgust twisting her features with every pull she took from the glass.

The flask lowered when the last of the thick, dark liquid had been consumed, leaving only a red-brown residue across vessel and lips, and almost immediately Hawke's stare seemed to pull her into the Void; her eyes empty even as they slid closed. For a time she stood in silence, her chin slowly tilting down as though she might have been drifting off into sleep.

Glass shattered at her feet and her lids snapped open once more, revealing pearlescent white orbs where once brilliant blue hues had been; her body as rigid as iron. Abruptly Hawke doubled over and began to retch vocally, spewing up bile alone, in spite of just having consumed nearly a pint of whatever foul elixir the blood mage had concocted. With each heave her body spasmed forcibly, her legs staggering as a drunkard would on his walk home from the tavern, and Fenris was upon her; his hands gripping her arms as he braced her against his body. "Hawke?" He called desperately, looking for some sign that she still heard him. "Hawke?!"

"Quiet." The blood mage ordered blandly, a quill and small book now in his hands as he watched her, scribbling onto the yellowed pages intermittently.

"What have you done to her?!" Fenris bellowed, and at his back the sound of the abomination pulling his staff for once failed to bring on trepidation - for Hawke still commanded his loyalty, in spite of Fenris' prior wishes.

Yet the warrior's rage was doused when the guttural noises against his breastplate ceased, and the woman in his arms convulsed mutely, her head hanging limply towards the floor. Her weight grew heavier within his arms as her body grew listless.

"You fool, don't just stand there," the ancient Warden barked tersely, "can you not see that she is choking?"

With a start Fenris pulled her up against his shoulder; plain, bulbous eyes gaped wildly above her gaping mouth as her body wracked with the effort to find breath. Fenris dropped her back to her prior position and, with all of the strength he dared to employ, struck at her back with the flat of his hand, bringing a sting to his skin and small dimples to her armor from the tips of his gauntlets. Another forcible blow followed, and another until a wet slapping sound met his ears. He paused only long enough to take note of the thick, tar-like substance which had splattered to the floor near his bare toes, speckling the dark skin of his feet as well as Hawke's lips.

Forgetting all but the woman in his arms, Fenris rained down another blow between her shoulder blades, which produced more of the vile substance, and at last Hawke was able to draw a shuddering, shallow breath. Hacking with newfound force behind the effort, she continued to expel the foul pitch, with occasion assistance from sharp blows delivered by the man who held her upright, until at last her mouth hung slack and she panted weakly against Fenris' armor, leaving him to support her weight nearly in full.

Her breath whistled from her throat and once more Fenris hoisted her upright, gripping her chin and turning her face to his. Holding to her tightly with one arm, he used his free hand to clear the last of the disgusting black droplets from her lips, careful not to draw blood with his armaments. "Hawke," he called plaintively, fingers wrapping around the base of her skull so that he could help to support her head, "Hawke, open your eyes."

Lids fluttered weakly and parted to reveal pale blue depths beneath, rolling slightly as her pupils constricted with the light until at last they to rest on his own gaze. "Horrible vintage," she muttered, falling into old habit of deflecting her misery with humor, as she had during their years in the Marches. "Remind me to have a word with Corff for serving such piss."

"Take up the cup of water and rinse your mouth," the blood mage ordered absently as he continued to scratch his observations into his book. "Spit, do not swallow."

"Now where's the fun in that," Hawke grumbled, though there was no spark within her eyes or mischievous quirk to her brow. Still Fenris understood her intent, and offered her a slight smirk.

"If you continue making jokes like that, I believe your mother may yet prefer the monster to her daughter when next you meet." He stated quietly, and was rewarded with a watery smile which barely tugged at her cheeks, yet was visible enough to give him hope. The experience and what had lead up to it had rattled her deeply. If she needed to cling to that horrendous sense of humor which had come so easily to her once, he would not deny her the attempts.

With the hand not supporting a large portion of her weight Fenris reached to pluck the cup from the table and hold it to her lips, allowing her to sip and spit repeatedly until the cup was empty and color had returned to her cheeks.

"What was that?" She asked through a disjointed sigh, looking down at the mess she had created upon the floor as she pushed off of Fenris, testing the strength of her legs as she did, though not without the bracing grip of her lover upon her bicep.

"Tainted plasma," The mage revealed, setting aside his book to stoop and catch some of the black liquid into a small glass tube, stopping it with a ball of pliable wax. "leached from your veins by the serum and expelled in the most efficient manner."

Before him Fenris heard Hawke's breath hitch within her chest as her body grew impossibly still. "So... it worked?"

"I will need to test your blood to be certain." The Warden announced dryly and took up a small knife and a shallow dish. "Give me your arm."

Without thought Fenris' hand upon her tightened, and Hawke patted the lyrium-etched appendage lightly; a clear signal that he was to release her. Freed of his grasp she stepped forward gingerly, avoiding the black stain as she pushed her sleeve up and presented the underside of her forearm. Gnarled fingers pinched tightly around smooth skin and Fenris watched as he pressed in the knife's tip, piercing her flesh and drawing forth a thin trickle of blood that ran ragged crimson lines down pale skin. Turning her arm over, the blood mage held her arm above the dish, kneading her flesh and coaxing blood from her arm greedily. Hawke grimaced while the clay vessel slowly filled, and at last Fenris stepped forward, unable to hold his tongue any longer.

"Enough." He announced, taking hold of Hawke's arm and pulling it from the Warden's grasp. "You have what you require for your tests. Finish them and let us be off."

"The formula," Hawke spoke quickly, "we'll need a copy for the Warden Commander, as well."

"Quite." The blood mage responded distractedly, waving them to an adjacent workbench. "In the wooden box, just there, is the Commander's copy."

Moving more quickly than Fenris felt she should have been capable of given her condition up until just moments prior, Hawke found the box and lifted the lid, pulling forth a small book and flipping through its pages. "I don't understand," she murmured, her brow furrowing as her eyes combed over the thin sheets within. "There is nothing here. Just the statement 'Take back your Joining.' Where is the formula?"

"That is all the formula a Grey Warden will need." The blood made revealed, placing droplets of her blood into various vials with the use of a slender glass wand. "The serum follows the same principles of that which is used in the Joining. In the Joining, initiates must drink a serum containing the blood of an archdemon, or a darkspawn if archdemon blood is not available. In curing oneself, one must drink blood that has been cleansed of the Taint. It is not magic, but alchemical. A Joining to become part of the Order. The antithesis to leave it."

Hawke grimaced. "But I thought I was the first to be cured. If the cure requires cleansed blood, whose blood did I drink?"

"A ghoul's." The Warden sighed, his patience clearly waning as he added pale, opaque liquids to the vials. "Though it never returned to its prior form, its blood was cleansed before it died."

"I knew it." Fenris growled deeply, his teeth bared in a hateful snarl. "The cure was never ready. You simply needed a new test subject."

"The serum was ready." The blood mage countered. "It had proven successful in prior trials on animals which were cured using blighted subjects of the same species. A ghoul was used to create the basis of the cure for men, as a ghoul was once a man. Having the same anatomy as an uninfected human, a ghoul is a suitable substitute, if necessary, but blood of one who is still human is the most stable."

Thin lips pulled back over darkened teeth and the blood mage grinned. "And now we have it." With reverent fingers the Warden lifted a red vial from its stand and held it out to Hawke. "Clean blood; free of the Taint. The future of thousands of Grey Wardens now rests within your veins. Perhaps someday, the end of all Blights." His expression then crumpled slightly. "So much to do. But not enough time..."

"I don't understand." Hawke frowned. "Why is time so short?"

"I will not live much longer," the mage admitted, "perhaps another few years. Perhaps less. Before I die this cure must be modified into something that can end the Blight on a world-wide scale. To end the Blights - that is the purpose of the Grey Wardens; my purpose." His head shook slowly, and the mage raised eyes that were nearly sad to the woman before him. Fenris' skin began to tingle, and then burn, as the power of his markings coursed in reaction to the rage he welcomed as a necessity - even before he heard the blood mage's next words.

"Forgive me, my dear, but your blood is too precious. I cannot let you leave here."

Fenris snarled as he pitched his weight forward onto the balls of his feet; his body poised, ready for flight. Ready to deliver onto the mage the finality he had only just been speaking about.

_Perhaps less, indeed._

XXXX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little shorter than usual, and a long time in coming compared to my prior pace, but overall I'm glad the story is moving again! Part of my problem was writing the story from Hawke's POV. With the exception of the chapters in which the pair split, the story has been almost entirely from Hawke's perspective, with Fenris' perspective only being described when apart from Hawke. I had intended to keep the story on this path throughout, but this chapter was just too difficult to write from her point of view. I hope it doesn't disappoint!


	12. Fighting for Her Foe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Although Hawke is used to fighting against those she has sworn to protect, after all of these years it has not gotten any easier. Opposition meets her at every turn, and from every direction. Yet a hero does not run when the tide turns.
> 
> Even when she should.

 

##  ACT TWELVE: FIGHTING FOR HER FOE

There was no doubt that they were in danger, but she could not stop to consider that just yet. Not now, when the world itself had grown quiet in spite of the activity blossoming around her.

Because Hawke could still feel the flow within her veins as it tingled and resonated with a coolness that was reminiscent of Anders' healing magic; could feel it disperse the whispers within her mind like smoke in the wind, before pooling low in her belly where it remained briefly before fading into nothingness.

Beneath her ribcage her stomach still roiled with hunger at the same time it threatened to reject anything introduced to it, yet this was not the taint. Her stomach had held this feeling before her fight against the ogre, and thanks to Anders she could now identify it. This was the child within her, making its presence known. It was here and, like its parents, it had fought for its little life. 

Hawke now could do no less.

Yet she was weakened by hunger, possessing only enough strength within limbs to hold her own in light combat for a short time. And while she had the distinct feeling that what was to come would be anything but a casual skirmish, she also knew that it was unavoidable. Guile would have to be her greatest weapon here, and she had more than enough of that. She need only put it to work.

At her side Fenris had grown as rigid as steel, with his eyes fixed upon Avernus and his lips pulled back in a sneer. She knew well the stance he now adapted; his arms held slightly outward and fingers splayed like a bird poised for flight, and his spine curved inward with his weight balanced not for speed, but for power. This was not the bearing he exhibited when he was ready to strike out for the quick kill. On the contrary, Fenris' posture was promising something far more grisly and personal. During these moods was when he was at his most dangerous, for when the warrior chose not to fight but to slaughter, not even Hawke could coax reason back into him.

Yet her lover was not the only one bent on what was to come. Beyond the steps which lead down to the main level Anders and Oghren had weapons in hand; the dwarf chuckling a low, dark sound that promised bloodshed and carnage, though not to the same degree Fenris' silence did. It seemed to her that Anders was her only ally who still held to reason - the irony of that not lost to Hawke.

With an imperious wave of one gnarled hand, a wall of fire erupted between the ancient mage and his foes, while Avernus himself casually strode from the dais from beyond the small inferno, calling to his comrades that the Champion was not to be harmed.

Disdain was clear in his features even beyond the licking flames as his eyes slid over her allies, and he sneered. "Dispose of the others."

A guttural laugh broke the tableau as Oghren struck first, his axe already whistling through the air as he bellowed demands for someone - anyone - 'to come and get it,' while Anders stepped back from the dwarf, his staff belching fire at the first of the ranged fighters to breach the entrance.

Yet the man at Hawke's side maintained a raptor's focus upon the blood mage; his lean warrior's frame maintaining its perfect, eery stillness. It would not be so for long.

Flecks of frost and ice from one of Anders' closer attacks peppered her cheek and Hawke moved, her soft boots spinning easily upon the worn flooring as she ghosted down the short steps and rushed Anders in a flurry of movement too quick for the mage to react to. Leather-glad hands clutched at his shoulders and spun him forcibly as she would clutch at a man she intended to use as a human shield. Instead of holding him in place, however, she ignored the outraged cry her companion emitted and wrenched the broadsword free from his back, spinning back to the weapon's owner.

"Fenris!" She cried, not hesitating when that piercing stare turned on her; rage and violence clearly shimmering in those green depths even from a distance. Twirling on her toes with the blade extended from her body, she completed two full rotations and released the handle, staggering slightly as the heavy weapon left her hands and shot through the air like a bolt from a trebuchet.

The warrior in its path took one deft step back and latched on as the weapon sailed passed, his own body spinning as Hawke's had to slow the sword's momentum so that he could brandish it before him. Hard eyes returned to her as his curved lips pulled back over gleaming teeth; his voice rising up on a forceful bellow.  _"Leave this place!"_

And then, seemingly without a second thought on her presence, Fenris took action; his beautiful form shimmering as he phased from the corporeal to the intangible while several Wardens converged upon him, weapons drawn and already in motion. 

A twinge of sadness sparked within her as she watched uniforms she had so respected swarm the man that she loved. Those Grey Wardens would not last long, she knew.

And then reality crashed back about her ears, as a rough shout caught her attention; clearly meant for her though her name was never used. "'Ay! Pincushion! Watch your sodding back!" Her dwarf companion's gruff call from the vicinity of the door came with only just enough time for Hawke to turn and dip low as the blade of a longsword sailed over her back. Twirling lightly from her crouched position, Hawke tore loose her daggers and deflected the follow-through blow. Beyond her adversary the offensive man held another Warden at bay; the haft of his axe gripped at both ends as he crushed it against the rogue man's throat and choked the life from him.

Hawke startled; she had been foolish to drop her guard as she did. Cursing herself loudly and shouting a quick word of thanks to her companion, she darted behind the back of the warrior who had also thought to capitalize on her distraction, thrusting a dagger through the seam between the woman's breastplate and pauldron. The Warden's scream was cut short when the woman turned her head towards the wounded appendage and gave Hawke the opening she needed to slit her quarry's throat. Yet there was no chance to savor in her first true victory since her fall to the ogre. The chamber was rapidly filling with blue and silver uniforms; the whole of the stronghold had answered the blood mage's call, and it now appeared that the hold had been fully established.

_Not good._

Judging by his barked command, Fenris had clearly known their situation before she had, or at least he had an idea of it.

"We can't fight them all!" She called over her shoulder to the apostate in their company while dancing out of the way of an oncoming arrow, barely aware of Avernus' enraged admonition to those under his command that 'the woman' was not to be harmed. "We have to run!" 

"Run?!" Anders barked, his staff spinning around his body and shoulders like a mad acrobat's performance, throwing off sparks and flashes of bright energies that charred and ignited those unlucky enough to find themselves the focus of his attention, "to where exactly?" With a sudden startled cry he lurched back unexpectedly, earning a scratch to his cheek instead of a shaft through his eye. Cursing out a mixture of shock and outrage, the blonde slammed the end of his staff into the ground and lightening irradiated in jagged paths along the floor, only to meet its target standing not more than fifteen paces off - a young archer who had tucked himself against a wall where he had held his assault from a distance. The man - boy really - convulsed as blue energies surged up his legs and through the rest his body before at last he collapsed, power still arcing over his uniform though the Warden himself showed no further trace of life.

Irritated with the waste of a good life, Hawke grimaced and took up the role of giving the mage close cover; dancing around him and fending off physical attacks while Anders delivered his spell work onto any that tried to overwhelm the pair. It was strange dancing so closely with him again, after so long; for not even during their journey to this place had she acted as his personal bodyguard. Yet she needed support as much as he needed time to cast forth his magics, and so together they fought, felling Wardens more rapidly and effectively than the two men who chose to fight alone.

From the other side of the room a coarse Tevene obscenity bit into the air; backed by rage and physical exertion. "Vehedas! I told you to leave!" In spite of the fact that his attention had not turned from his attacks since they had first been launched, Fenris was clearly monitoring her position.

Yet Anders had been right, she realized. Where could she run? Where could  _they_ run? Even if they escaped this room and the dozens of Wardens streaming into it, they were still in the Deep Roads. Racing through these passages without care was all but begging for death.

And at the moment it did not appear the Grey Wardens would allow her the luxury of a choice. The size of the chamber alone prevented the rest of their ranks from joining the fray, but she could hear more voices still from the passageway they had entered from. Regardless of what Fenris may wish, she was not going anywhere, and neither were her companions. If there was going to be any chance for the lot of them to make it out of this with their lives, she was going to have to come up with a plan. 

Thankfully much of the Wardens' focus had been removed from her. Either that or those loyal to Avernus simply did not want to be the ones to risk his wrath if she was slain. She found that she had to chase the battle more often than not; the effort taxing her limited physical resources despite her diminished battlefield of four paces in any direction from where Anders stood his ground. Warriors soon abandoned their attempts at reaching the mage when the rogue placed herself squarely within their path; goading them into fighting her. Soon magical attacks and the occasional arrows were all that flew at them, and even that was waning as more often than not Hawke was in their path. 

Beyond her blades and Anders' staff, the battle had grown fiercest in two tight gatherings, where Oghren and Fenris served as the eyes of the chaotic storms. Blades flashed red in the dim light as her two warrior companions fought the hardest of them all; Oghren glad to take down anyone who approached him while Fenris worked steadily towards a single, fixed target.

Given how ferociously the men and women standing against her companions fought, it was clear that while the Grey Wardens stationed to this thaig may have reported to Commander Valeria at one time, someone else now commanded their loyalties. Someone who had undoubtedly made promises these Wardens were all too willing and desperate to believe.

Talented though he may be, Fenris would never get through to the blood mage with his present efforts. Vivid cuts streaked his arms and scorch marks darkened his skin, giving evidence that he was not as untouchable as he seemed to think. And there were still so many Wardens willing to stain their blades with his blood. He would never get close enough. 

No one would.

Hawke physically stilled from her place just beyond the apostate's back as her mind tripped over a sudden idea, and without a second thought she pulled a purple flask from her pack, shattering the container at her feet. Acrid smoke billowed from the liquid which pooled upon the stone floor, and Hawke drew a careful breath, stepping into the cloud as is expanded and enveloped her. 

With silent footsteps the rogue skittered around men and women too distracted with their own battles to notice her, knowing that she had just seconds from the time the flask broke to act. Not enough time to reach Avernus or to take down a large number of enemies, but more than enough time for what she intended.

Reaching her destination at last Hawke sheathed her weapons and retrieved her prize, while around her the last of her smokescreen dissipated. Now it was all she could to to remain in the shadows and avoid detection for as long as possible.

In an area as crowded as this, the effort taxed her abilities, if not her stamina. Oghren's tangent was doing well enough to distract them for now, but soon enough Avernus would notice her disappearance. She couldn't just avoid combat - she had to remain unseen, and in a battlefield as heavily populated as this she could not escape detection for long. 

Her breath caught when Anders' head jerked with a start, having at last taken notice of her absence. Amber eyes darted over the chamber briefly until his body grew impossibly still for only a moment, before he made a visible effort to lock his eyes forward, resuming his attacks on those who grew too near to him. No longer did he try to find her, though the strain of worry still creased the corners of his eyes. Whatever his concerns, he knew her strengths and abilities, and had clearly decided to leave her to her craft.

She may never be able to trust him as she once had, or as he now trusted her, but when this was over she would see him cured of the Taint. She would see him given a chance at redemption. If she owed him nothing more, she owed him that much.

With feather-fall steps Hawke continued to tread through the shadows along the edges of the battle; flinching and then ignoring the pained cry that rose up from her mage companion behind her. His magic still charged the air, and rushing back to his side would serve no purpose. If any of them were going to survive she had to keep to her plan.

When she had at last reached a suitable location Hawke's steps ceased and she lifted her prize carefully. The bowstring felt warm against her cheek and her fingers carefully avoided fouling the fletching of the arrow she knocked. Hawke was no expert with a bow. She never had been. Like Isabela, she preferred the surety of two solid blades in her grip. But blades would not win her this battle. Not when her body was no longer hers alone to endanger. Not when her enemy's defenses were so numerous.

Not when her life was the prize for victory here.

Instead she waited and watched as the yellow aura surrounding Avernus held firm and then slowly began to waiver. Hawke's arm burned with the effort of maintaining the draw of the string, and she stubbornly refused her limbs the luxury of shaking beneath the stress. It was clear that what little strength she had reclaimed from the cure was waning. When this was over she would be useless on the field, regardless of if she succeeded or not.

From his place beside the platform, Fenris had resorted to alternating between phasing to protect his person and returning to the physical in order to batter against the defenses of the mages who acted as a living magical shield for the blood mage; all the while Avernus himself threw forth walls of fire and great spears of ice meant to scorch and shred the elf. Her lover staggered under the assault more than he had, and in spite of her desire to rush to him and save him from further injury, Hawke ignored his struggles as she watched for her opportunity.

The shimmering of the blood mage's wards flickered all the more erratically and Hawke took her breath, holding it as she waited.

There would only be this one moment.

There would only be this one arrow.

The ward died and the Grey Warden lifted his arm to recast.

Hawke exhaled and let the thin shaft and feathers slip from her fingers; watched as the arrow raced through the air between his subordinates before finally burying in the ancient man's chest. As one, the men in his command acting as his living shield whirled in response to his pained outcry, and without hesitating Fenris cleaved through the closest of the pair, his sword severing the mage's shoulder from the torso in an ugly, jagged line that stopped just beyond the breastbone.

The bow clattered to the ground and Hawke rushed the felled Warden, headless of the combatants still surging around her or the growing fatigue of her limbs. Spinning and dipping to avoid stray attacks as she went, Hawke tore her way through the chamber before at last crying out to her lover as he pulled his sword free of the corpse it was lodged within; his blade lifting high before driving its point down with clear intent. Panicked, Hawke reached out and thrust her hands up beneath one shimmering forearm, knowing that her effort alone would not be enough to stop the blade's decent. 

It was not, but Fenris' was, just as she had counted on; the forearm Hawke clutched to pushed her aside while the other dragged the blade away, ruffling her hair with its passing air current before drawing to a halt behind the warrior.

"Kaffas! Fasta vass!" Her lover roared, panting his exertion as he set a murderous glare upon her, yet Hawke ignored him in favor of dropping to her knees beside the man she had spared an immediate death.

"You won't survive," she announced flatly, "but there is still time to save your Order. Tell me - what are the components of the serum?"

Blood blurbed from the man's mouth as he laughed a derisive sound. "My life's most important work, and you think you can know it in three breaths?"

"Not all - just the most important parts. Give me that at least." 

"You selfish child," he rasped. "I could have saved Thedas. And all it would have cost was your life."

"You still can." Hawke pressed. "Or are you too petty to give me what I need? To give your Order what it needs?"

"I already told you," Avernus sneered through a bubbling cough, "the Grey Wardens must take back their Joining. Give that to the Commander. If her mages cannot decipher it, then they don't... deserve... their lives..."

"And what of these men that just fought for your life?" She demanded indignantly, her fingers tightening on the Warden's shoulders in frustration and unaware that the room was growing steadily quieter. "You will allow them to die for your pride?! Answer me!" Hawke cried out angrily, yet it was too late. The mage's eyes stared vacantly up at the ceiling above her, motionless except when jostled by her.

Her first thought was the most painful one her mind could conjure at that precise moment: Bethany's sweet face, smiling at her through sunken eyes and pale skin. 

With a physical shake of her head, Hawke forced herself to abandon her despair for the moment; her head snapping to the elevated work station. On legs far steadier than they felt she mounted the steps and crossed the dais, pushing passed Fenris while stepping carefully over the bodies he had left in his wake. At her back her lover uttered words she did not yet know in a dark, menacing tone, yet she could not afford to allow him to effect her emotions yet, or all control would be lost.

With numb fingers she reached for the flask she had taken the cure from; the dark residue still clinging to the glass and pooling slightly at the bottom. Locating a suitable stopper, Hawke pushed the cork into the glass opening, depositing it into her pack. Methodically she applied the same practice to the bottles she had watched Avernus lift just a short time ago, stopping up the vials and packing them away as she went.

"What exactly do you think you are doing?" A gruff, unfamiliar voice demanded from below the platform, and Hawke lifted her eyes in the direction the voice had come to find a large man with a thick beard glaring at her.

"These are the vials he used to make the cure," she said, waving an arm over the workbench. "The Commander must have someone who will be able to identify these mixtures."

"She did," the Warden growled. "You just murdered him."

From further off to her left Anders scowled darkly. "I think you may have missed the part where he decided killing Hawke was a good idea. He had his serum. He didn't need her."

"You don't know that."

Anders' posture visibly tensed as it did when something outraged him. "Were you not listening?" He demanded, his hand gesturing emphatically before him; staff still clutched in a white-knuckled grip. "He didn't need her to cure us! He had his cure. He was going to use her for experiments. To research a way to end all Blights - something the Commander had not sanctioned."

"Blood magic," Fenris sneered from his place over the body of the mage in question. "He was consumed by it; just as any other mage desperate to secure their own immortality."

Hawke shook her head, continuing to gather up each vial that contained a substance of some kind, packing them away before moving onto the research notes and books. "It won't be for nothing," she stated firmly, as much for herself as for those in attendance, "I won't let it be for nothing." With her pack near to bursting, Hawke at last began to descend the steps from the dais, only to have the bearded man who had spoken out against her move to block her path.

"You think we're just going to let you walk out of here with Grey Warden property?" His eyes narrowed as the tip of his sword lifted beside him in a clear threat; Hawke sensed Fenris' approach even if she could not hear it and lifted her fingers in a gesture meant to halt the violence he would inflict, if nothing else. Now was precisely the time when they could not afford more fighting. Now was the only chance she had to secure their lives and safe passage from this place.

"Your Commander sent me for this," she replied, her voice a hard knife edge in a throat raw with emotions she dared not express. "I am to bring her the results of the research she supported for nearly a decade." She stepped forward, lifting her chin so that she could hold eye contact with him despite the difference in height between them. "Unless you intend to try and keep it from her. Do you intend that, Warden?"

"You killed her men," the bearded man growled, "why should we believe you?"

"Because unlike Avernus, I've done nothing but keep my word," Hawke countered, consciously keeping her voice steady. "I agreed to travel through the Deep Roads for your Commander, and I have. Even though it almost killed me. I agreed to take the serum here, instead of in the Commander's presence, just as Avernus demanded. I held to that." Her eyes swiveled to the enraged elf standing a few paces off, "and I promised this man that I wouldn't die if he didn't. He still stands, so I fought for my life. Just as I promised." Her gaze returned to the great wall of a man before her. "Now I have one final promise to keep. I need to take the cure to your Commander. If what Avernus said is true, I have part of it within me, and she'll know the rest."

Her eyes narrowed and her lips pulled back. "So unless you think you can do better to recreate Avernus' work, I suggest you stand aside and let me finish what I swore Valeria Therin I would do. Do you, Warden, have a problem with that?"

The man before her glowered down with such anger until at last he huffed an angry breath. "I don't rightly have a choice, do I?" He demanded as he stepped aside. "But you had better pray to the Maker she finds a way. If you fail, the Grey Wardens won't forgive this attack."

In spite of her better judgement, Hawke felt her ire pique at the threat of future attack. She was done with running. With hiding and living in fear of being pursued. She had too much to do; too many reasons now to desire a right to her own path.

She was done with all of it. 

"If you think you can hold me accountable for the actions of a power-mad blood mage," she sneered back, stepping in closer to the man despite his retreat, and straining for as much height as she could muster with her dignity, "I invite you to come and try to exact your judgment. You won't need to go to your Callings when I'm done with you."

And without a backward glance to see if the man would raise his blade, or to confirm her companions would follow, Hawke shouldered passed the enraged Grey Warden and strode from the room, never deigning to meet the gazes of any who stepped aside to let her pass.

 

XXXX

 

Her heart thrummed beneath her breast as she marched forward, and she knew that if she stopped moving the others would see how her body trembled. Her composure was cracking, tearing long fissures in the confident veneer she had presented to the Grey Wardens. 

It was over now and, without a life-or-death struggle to distract her, Hawke could not avoid the onslaught of emotions that were now overtaking her. The knowledge that she and her child had been saved swirled into a sickening mixture with thoughts of others. Of Bethany, and Anders, and the countless Wardens who may never know the kiss of the cure in their veins. Of her mother, who had so wanted to be a grandmother, yet would never know the little one growing inside of her. And of the life that she would have to offer the child - a life of running from those who would seek to use her for their own gains.

Yet just as these thoughts came to be they were snuffed out, as a painful grip took hold of her arm, spinning her around so that her eyes clashed with a flashing crystalline green glare.

"Festis bei umo canavarum!" Fenris railed as he pulled at her roughly, heedless of the way she stumbled within his grasp. "You had no right!" His voice came on as a thunderous boom instead of a quiet growl; he was angry, but not so far gone to his rage that the horrible quiet had taken over. Hawke thanked the Maker for that much.

"They were in the corridors," she replied, pulling his fingers from her arm with great effort, "even if I tried I wasn't going to get by."

"So instead you threw yourself into the fray?" He demanded, his face contorted in a mask she knew too well as he threw a wild gesture to the great hall behind them. "You are not yet well. You could have fallen to them!"

"I had to do something, Fenris," she pressed, "or there would have been no clear path to escape through."

"If you knew from the start that you were not going to be able to run then you should have kept to the shadows! But no. You simply could not be bothered to spare yourself the danger!"

Hawke balked. "And abandoned the three of you to your deaths?" Metal clad hands gripped her shoulders tightly and pulled at her, bringing her face-to-face with narrowed green eyes and gleaming teeth.

"Kaffas! Your life is no longer your own, Hawke! Does that mean nothing to you?!"

And there it was again, that expression she had never known before recently, and yet was confident now that it existed.

Beneath his ire and his outrage, Fenris was afraid.

Hesitating only a moment, Hawke allowed her tension to slip from her body as she slowly lifted her hand, resting her fingertips to one dark cheek. He flinched away from her touch at first, and yet she did not let that deter her, pressing a delicate touch to his overly warm skin. For a time she simply stood there, her fingers slowly sliding up into the downy soft hair at his temple so that she could cup his cheek, watching as the expression of rage slowly quieted from his features.

"It's alright to be afraid, Fenris," she whispered, "I am."

His expression hardened once more; his grip upon her shoulder tightening as though he intended to shake her. But the action never came, and after a moment his lovely face tipped away from hers, hidden slightly behind starlight colored hair; the grip upon her arms loosening and tightening sporadically as Fenris struggled against whatever emotions were vying to overtake him.

"I... cannot believe that," he admitted in a broken, graveled voice. "I spent too long living in fear. When I finally cast it off I swore I would never live like that again. Now I find myself returning to that uncertainty, and it gnaws at me."

The fingers in his hair stilled as an icy dread took hold of her, and before she could stop herself she heard the words pouring from her lips. "I would never ask you to do or be anything you do not wish for, Fenris," she breathed. "If this is not what you want-"

Lips claimed her mouth in a crushing kiss before she could complete the thought, drowning out her words and bringing forth the slight taste of copper from the desperate pressure. Helpless beneath his fervor Hawke opened her mouth and found his tongue immediately present; swirling against her own and laving at the blood he had drawn from her lips. 

Forgetting herself and where they stood, Hawke surrendered to his attention, sliding her hands behind his neck and allowing him to pull her against the uncomfortable metal that shielded his chest as they lost themselves to one another. His arms encircled her, pinning her to him and enveloping her in his unusual heat which she had grown to enjoy, especially here in the damp cold of the Deep Roads. And if she heard the faint sound of suggestive laughter at her back she certainly did not care enough to stop.

Finally, though, the lips against hers became softer, cupping her upper lip gently with soft, wet sounds before at last allowing cool air to come between them. "If you think that I will leave you now," he murmured, "you are as mad as the company you keep." His words drove a bubble of relief up to her throat, and Hawke swallowed, resting her forehead to his and hoping it would speak the words she could not utter aloud.

"Well," the apostate behind them chimed brusquely, and Hawke suddenly realized she had just done to the mage what together they had done to Fenris for years in Kirkwall. Even if he no longer held romantic feelings for her - which she dared not try to find out - it might still have been awkward for him. "Now that that's all settled," Anders continued, "perhaps we should move on? There is, after all, an entire thaig of angry Grey Wardens not more than fifty paces behind us, and hordes of darkspawn roaming the corridors we are going to have to travel through."

Fenris' gaze hardened again, sliding towards the apostate, but Hawke's quick fingers kept his face turned towards her. "Come on," she murmured, "you've got a job to do." The dark brows before her lifted with mild curiosity and she smiled for his benefit more than out of true humor. "My daggers are retired now, remember?" She pointed out, cocking a brow of her own in mock-warning. "Unless my hand is forced."

A barely perceptible smirk tugged at her lover's full lips all too briefly before he set her away from him. "I assure you, that will not be necessary. I remain at your side."

Turning in the direction that they had come, Hawke ignored the grumbled complaints from the dwarf and the awkward glances from the apostate. There was too much to consider, and she had just under two weeks until they reached the surface.

As they walked she began to mull over the idea of asking Anders to try to identify the substances within the flasks when next they set up camp. He was a healer, and had as good a chance as any Grey Warden mage to identifying the components of the serum.

The thoughts that had tried to bury her in despair moments ago rose up once more, and it took all of her effort to muscle them down. There was too much to do, and as tempting as it was, giving in to grief would serve no purpose. Between the vials in her pack and the cleansed blood in her veins, there was still hope for the Wardens - for her sister. And with Fenris' vow she knew that she would not have to endure what was to come alone.

She would not give up so easily.

She could  _not_ return to Valeria empty-handed. 

 

XXXX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not as pleased with this chapter, but it may be because Hawke has been in the Deep Roads for so long that I'm bored with it and just want her out! (I'm certain she feels the same way.) It's not so much that this one was rushed, but Hawke didn't - or couldn't - fight in this chapter as much as usual, and as the story was from her POV... I don't know. I just got... bored. Until the end. When they were done fighting and started... fighting. Anyway, I'm excited about what is to come. Back to the surface and surfacer troubles.
> 
> And smut.
> 
> What, you think pregnant women can't get it on? She's a little nauseous - not dead! 
> 
> Yes, yes, I'm getting a hankering, my friends... Fenris had better get some before she feels like a bloated snoufleur!


	13. Desires, Dreams, and Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the Deep Roads behind then, Fenris and Hawke are given the opportunity to reaffirm their relationship. Yet after the events spanning the last few weeks change is inevitable. The question stands, how will they face these changes?

 

## ACT THIRTEEN: DESIRES, DREAMS, AND DECISIONS

 

With a hand braced against the low, geometric rock formation behind her, Hawke leaned forward once more, plunging her head into an incoming swell and scratching at the short strands of her hair with her unoccupied fingers to help release the soap suds into the water. The sea was bloody cold but, after weeks with only being able to run a soapy wet cloth over her skin, Hawke was determined to have a proper bath. And while bathing in the Waking Sea was not ideal, it was the only body of water near their camp which she could safely venture to after dark, once the others had retired for the night.

And so the bar of soap upon the rocks beside her was applied to her skin for a second time, and she furthered its efforts by adding her nails to her scrubbing, scratching away at the grime she could still feel more than see, for the stars were obscured by the ever-present clouds, and she had decided against leaving a torch on the shore. While half of her party may already know what she looked like without her smalls, she was in no hurry to allow the stable boy or the lecherous dwarf the same knowledge.

Another wave lapped up over her hips and, gritting her teeth against the cold, Hawke dipped low, allowing it to rinse the soap and filth from her skin; her body swaying slightly against the tide as it pushed and pulled at her. In spite of the temperature, the sensation of being clean felt marvelous, and she ran hands over her scoured flesh, ensuring that no place had been neglected.

"Ah, there you are."

Startled, Hawke turned to find a dark silhouette topped in shining silver standing beside Horse, whom she had brought to act as a second set of eyes and ears while she bathed. Yet it stood to reason why she had received no warning of the elf's arrival; her mount would have raised no protest against someone who had helped care for him for so many weeks. Instead Horse stood by quietly, nosing at the man for a scratch when one dark hand was placed upon his neck, to which Fenris absently obliged. "When you had said you were going to freshen up, I had thought you were simply going to splash some water on your face."

The concept of not bathing seemed repulsive to her now, and with that a long forgotten memory resurfaced, bringing a wistful smile to her lips. Without having to apply any conscious thought she spoke from rote; the tone perfectly mimicked even after all of these years. "A lady must take every care in how she presents herself to the public."

The silver hair swayed in the dark as the head it crowned presumably tipped. "I beg your pardon?"

She shook her head. "Just something my mother used to try to teach her daughters. Clearly Bethany was better at listening to that particular lesson." She smiled ruefully. "She always did say that my idea of caring for my appearance was to smear war paint across my face."

A low chortle rose up in response to her admission. "If it is of any consolation, it attracted me."

Distracted as she was by their banter, Hawke failed to notice the large swell at her back until it was upon her, knocking her off balance and pulling her beneath the frigid waters. Surrounded by the blackness of the nighttime sea water, her hands scrabbled for purchase on the rocks until a hard grip caught her up beneath one arm and lifted her to the surface, spluttering lightly, though no worse for wear.

"Thanks," she murmured and turned a slightly abashed expression to the man who had trudged, fully clothed, into the water to retrieve her. "I believe I'm clean enough now."

"I believe you may be right." Fenris countered, and together the pair waded from the surf, stopping beside Horse so that Hawke could retrieve the small towel and run it over her body.

With the last of her skin patted dry, she then turned the towel upon her hair, rubbing vigorously as she twisted and turned her neck before finally noticing how - or more precisely _where -_ Fenris' eyes had trained on her. Lowering her own gaze to her body, she wondered how he would see her now. They had not discussed the matter in any great detail yet. Escaping from the darkspawn infested tunnels had understandably taken priority over public conversations on whether or not the father of her child really wanted to be a father.

Now, however, seemed to be as good a time as any.

"I've heard that it takes a few months before there is a visible change," she offered quietly, her skin tingling at Fenris' proximity.

"No," he murmured, lifting a hand to place hesitant fingertips against her abdomen, "it is there."

Hawke knew that if the cold had not already raised her skin into gooseflesh his touch would have. As his touch moved up towards her ribs her eyes followed, noting the way that it followed a very slight curve, one that had not been so prominent before. Re-tracing the path that his fingers had just followed, his hand ceased its travels at a place just below her navel where it hovered tentatively before he pressed his palm over her lower abdomen, dark and warm and firm against her skin. Slowly his fingers spread to cover more area while the pressure of his touch became slightly more confident, and she wondered if he could feel the tiny, hard ball within her that she had only just become aware of in recent days.

With a hand that trembled as much from the cold as from the electric current flowing through her veins, Hawke placed a palm over his hand, only too grateful for the warmth of his body when his free arm pulled her near.

"You should not be out here like this," he said at last, his breath a hot wave against her temple as he reached for the cloak she had previously set over Horse's back, draping the warm fabric over her shoulders and wrapping it around her naked body. "Come," he murmured and clucked for Horse to follow as he lead them back to the tents.

The two structures had been delivered a few weeks prior to their reemergence as gifts from the Inquisition's Spymaster, Wilhelm had confirmed upon their return to the surface. As to why or to what end the woman continued to support their efforts Hawke could not say. Perhaps she owed the Commander a favor. Perhaps the two were friends. Whatever the reasoning, however, the former Champion was glad for the aid. For, along with the tents, healing supplies and fresher rations had been delivered, which included preserved apples - the first food other than travel biscuits which did not turn her stomach, she had discovered gratefully.

Once within the tent Fenris had claimed for himself and Hawke, she was grateful she had left the little brazier smoldering, for the temperature change - while slight - was welcome. Besides the brazier two fresh bedrolls were warming nicely, while their gear near the entrance and an enclosed lantern completed the contents of the structure. All-in-all it was nothing extraordinary, but after weeks of sleeping with nothing but crumbling stone and eery shadows surrounding them, Hawke found the tent to be nearly a luxury. Moving quickly to sit upon the bedrolls, she began the process of thawing her hands and toes before the glowing embers while watching as Fenris stripped his sodden clothing from his body; his leggings proving the most difficult as they pulled away with a wet sucking sound. "Sorry about that," she muttered sheepishly, but did not fail to catch the glint in those green eyes, or the arched brow in the dim light.

"It would seem that you were not the only one due for a bath." He replied, and she chuckled again, returning her attention to the coals before her and the wonderful tightening they brought to her skin.

Warmth then engulfed her back when her beloved moved behind her and pulled her against his chest, his bare thighs cupping her hips and encasing her in his comfortable heat. "Better?" He asked and she hummed her relief, leaning into him and stretching out her arms as his hands traveled up and down their lengths until the movement ceased at last, and he was simply holding her.

"There have been too many occasions recently which have given me cause to believe I might never know another moment like this with you." His voice was low and graveled in her ear, and she reached up to give the arms around her a comforting squeeze.

"I'm here, Fenris," she replied softly, feeling his nose bury into the hair behind her ear.

"A fact I am grateful for," he admitted, his hand lifting to brush the backs of his fingers against her cheek before lowering to the slight mound of her belly. In the quiet of the tent and the night, away from the prying eyes of their companions, Fenris had seemingly given in to his desire to explore her, and Hawke obliged by pressing his hand slightly lower, over the place where she knew their child to be hiding. For a moment he was still but for his heartbeat against her spine, his lips and nose pressed to the softness behind her ear while his grip shifted to cradle her stomach within his palm. His fingers continued their gentle movements over her skin, barely kneading the flesh as he caressed the slight rise.

At last her lover stirred, using his free hand to carefully pulled the fabric of her cloak aside slightly, his fingertips ghosting over the scar at her flank where Anders had removed the arrow she had taken defending him. More of the cloak was pushed from her body after that, and Fenris continued his inspection of the other two scars she had earned; pink stars fading against pale skin, but still vivid enough to remind them they had been earned just weeks ago.

"So many changes to this body," he murmured, fingertips trailing over the healed wound upon the soft depression beneath her shoulder, and Hawke's eyes slid closed at his touch, her head tipping slightly to keep from impeding his view. Taking the invitation, Fenris pushed aside another fold of her cloak to reveal a single, heavy breast, and pleasure rippled up her spine as she felt his response against her lower back.

"It's good to know that not all of those changes have been for the worse," she commented lightly, hissing and arching her back into his touch when his hand trailed down to cup at the over-sensitive mound. "Maker," she breathed Once his grip slackened, and he resorted to gentle caresses of her raised peak with his forefinger.

Is this wise, Raina?" He murmured, his lips brushing against the lower junction of her throat as he spoke. "You are-"

"If you start to treat me like a glass figurine, Fenris, I swear I'll go mad." She warned, turning in his arms so that she could capture his angular jaw in her hand and his gaze with her own. "Besides, haven't we waited long enough?"

The spark of desire lit those pale green depths, much to her gratification. "Too long," he rumbled; his voice liquifying her insides into molten honey. The admission was immediately followed by a kiss that threatened to drink her in with its need, yet this time there was no urgency to the act. Tattooed hands carefully pulled the cloak from between their bodies while his kisses remain languid, and the heat of his bare skin against hers set her afire in a way that had nothing to do with temperature. Already her center was pulsing, feeling fuller - more swollen - than it ever had felt before. Distantly, she wondered if she had her pregnancy to thank for that, or if it was due to her plunge into the icy sea.

When at last her lips were freed, it was so that the tongue she had been savoring up to that point could lave upon her throat as, with gentle hands, Fenris maneuvered her so that she was seated across his lap; his manhood pinned between her hip and his stomach. It was almost too much for her to feel it there; the need to have him was unbelievably strong. With the hand that was not wrapped around his shoulders she reached down to draw feather-soft trails over the protruding head, marveling in its silken texture.

The man beneath her groaned and lifted his mouth from her throat. "Patience," he hummed, "we have the entire night before us."

"What," she said, trying to smile cheekily in spite of her physical state, "no begging for mercy this time?" Elegant fingers lifted to tilt back her chin and once more his lips found the column of her throat; the attention causing Hawke to forgot her attempts at levit.

"Not tonight," he admitted in between light suckling. "I plan to spend this night worshipping you as you deserve."

The marked hand which had granted him access to her throat then flattened to her collar, caressing her the peaks and valleys of her body before dipping between her thighs, and Hawke moaned her pleasure when those expert fingers began stroking her bud; her thighs parting wantonly while her hips bucked slightly, pressing her mound into his palm.

"Maker, Fenris," she gasped, fearful that he would toy with her and end this pleasure before she found release. Her worry was pointless though, for her crest grew and swelled rapidly, and before long she was quaking in his embrace, curling in on herself as her muscles clenched and her sex tightened around nothing. At her ear his low crooning urged her to let go, while his fingers continued to stroke her with firm certainty, coaxing her on until nothing remained but a pool of warmth in her belly.

In spite of the pleasure radiating through her body in warm waves, it had not been enough. Indeed, she found that the experience had left her only wanting more. She was voracious; starved for his touch - for his presence within her - while knowing all too well that the torment of his fingers alone would not be enough to sate her tonight. Her hips began to rock within his lap again, seemingly of their own accord, and Fenris placed a firm grip upon the curve not pressed to his body.

"Do that much longer," he graveled, "and there will be nothing left for you at the end of the night."

"You don't honestly plan to make me wait that long," she all but pleaded, pressing her lips to his throat before taking one angular shell into her lips, tracing its edge with the tip of her tongue and listening to him hiss, his control slipping.

"Kaffas." He grated softly, and lifted her enough so that he could slip out from beneath her while twisting in order to hover over her body, compelling her to lie back. "You will not end this so quickly," he continued. "I will have you, make no mistake, but first I will watch you come undone again," the word was punctuated with a ripe kiss to the corner of her mouth, "and again," more wet kisses followed, accompanied by further promises to see to her pleasure as his mouth traveled down her throat, teeth pulling at her skin gently as he moved over her.

Until those smooth lips reach a firm breast that positively ached from within.  It was there that he pounced, pulling the tender peak into his lips eagerly and taking the tiny nub between his teeth. The ache within the mounded flesh crystalized into a physical knot and, unthinking of the other tent just a few paces off from theirs - or its inhabitants - Hawke let lose a warbled cry of pleasure and pain.

The starlit colored head bent over her breast lifted with a snap while green eyes fell upon her instantly, wide and utterly aware. "Are you hurt?" Unconsciously her hand slid up her ribs to cup the underside of the globe as she shook her head, rubbing a thumb over her nipple to both sooth and stimulate.

"No. They're just tender," she assured him, "as though they're bruised from within."

That uncertain gaze turned down to her occupied hand, and Fenris shifted his weight above her, replacing her touch with his own as his thumb continued the soft caresses hers had just performed. With a sigh she laid back once more and watched as he descended upon her breast again, lapping at it gently before blowing cool air over the peak. Humming her approval at his new tactic, she lifted a hand to the back of his head, encouraging him, and was gratified to feel the flesh pulled into a far softer kiss; the heat of his wide tongue bringing the ache back, though not unpleasantly.

"Ego diligo vestri osculum [1]," she breathed, her mouth clumsy with the words yet still earning an approving expression from the man above her.

"Do you, now?" His voice was a delicious purr, and her insides squirmed with anticipation. The shoulders above her rolled as his weight shifted again, and her breath hitched when she felt warm fingers at her center; a feather soft touch placed at her opening, but nothing more. "And if I were to kiss you here?"

Without her consent her sex tightened and clenched against the pad of his finger, and the responding smirk above her was positively sinful in its intent. "I see," he rumbled, and consciously Hawke tangled her fingers into the fabric beneath her, aware that if she tried to interfere he could decide to prolong the torture further.

Thankfully the beautiful figure above her slid away from her without further taunting, though she was by no means neglected.  Powerful hands were upon her thighs, lifting her knees and spreading her legs so that lyrium etched shoulders and a silver head could fit between their lengths. Hawke's body rolled against the blankets as she whimpered, quickly losing herself to the carnal desires consuming her.

And when next his lips met her skin it was over her swollen sex, the tip of his tongue spreading thin folds of skin and licking away the arousal which was already seeping from her, before spearing her opening as deeply as the muscle would reach, then emerging to flatten against her pearl heavily.  Dark brows knitted and beautiful eyes slid closed as he devoted himself to the task of satisfying her. A sigh of decadent pleasure rasped from Hawke's slackened lips, and without thought she plunged her hands into his hair; kneading his scalp and relishing in the silken texture of the tresses, lips, and tongue against her overly-sensitized skin. Need built steadily within her, consuming her reason, and soon her hands had fisted within his silken mane, pressing him more tightly to her center; begging without words for him to enter her more deeply, to increase the pressure his tongue exacted. Her enthusiasm earned a low growl from her lover as he took her bud into his lips, vibrating the tender flesh and sending rippling tingles up her spine. Lips and tongue lapped and suckled at her juices, his head bobbing lightly with each action, until he, too, was lost to the act; his mouth full of flesh and movement and her essence as he all but devoured her arousal covetously.

Pleasure wracked her body, lifting her shoulders from the blankets as she spasmed and panted vocally.  No longer did she worry about those who slept nearby.  They were a thousand years from this place, and so very small in comparison to what she now experienced. Fenris' kiss plucked at her swollen lower lips as his grip upon her waist tightened possessively, and while it was passionate and electrifying it was also slow. He was taking his time with her - ravenous but deliberate - as he threw her into a state of mindless bliss and longing, a state she was only too glad to be pulled along with.

Without thought for the hard ground beneath her bedding she collapsed to the faric beneath her; chest heaving with each desperate breath. Another wave surged within her nerves and her back arched, thrusting her breasts into the air while her hips gyrated and ground her sex against his mouth, until the spiraling climax that had been building within her for what seemed to be an eternity broke free at long last. Convulsing, her palms slapped the blankets beyond her head, grasping at the bedroll.  Mindlessly she keened her rapture into the tent's warmth as her body quaked with the power of a release Fenris worked ardently to prevent from ending.

Until it did, and she lay before him panting, trembling, depleted; her chest heaving and limbs slack. For a time she was simply content to lay there with her eyes closed and experience the feel of her beloved's mouth and hands as they traveled along the curves of her body; of his tongue as he kissed her wetly behind her knee, his hands as they massaged her inner thighs, his teeth as he nipped at her hipbones, his fingers ghosting over ticklish ribs, and finally a gentle, chaste kiss to the place that held their child. There he remained for a time, inhaling her scent and nuzzling her skin while she combed her fingers through his thick, soft hair.

Yet the ache was still there within her; the deep emptiness that needed - _craved_ \- to be sated. She didn't understand it. How could she have come so hard and still want more? With pleasantly hollowed arms she reached for her lover, feeling her channel tighten at the thought of taking him into her, of being filled by him completely; broken words of entreaty rasping from her lips as those fierce eyes regarded her with pupils widening enough to devour the green.

A primal growl cut the air between them. "Venhedis! I can resist you no longer."

He was upon her then, his solid heat pressing against her heavily, though he had propped himself with an arm above her head while his free hand reached back to drape her leg around his hips. And it was with one slow, sure thrust of those powerful but narrow hips that he entered her, and - _by the Maker_ \- she could swear that he was twice the size he had been when last she taken him in.

The effect must not have escape her lover's notice, either, for what could have been a pained groan broke from his chest, and his jaw clenched forcibly above her. For a moment she worried he had hurt himself, until his eyes reopened and she saw within them the desperation her own body was experiencing. Slowly he leaned in, pressing his forehead to hers but not moving where they were joined. Laying there, she waited for him to gather himself again, reveling in the feeling of simply being overfull with him, even without the gratifying motion he could bring about.

And then, with a careful, purposeful roll, his hips pulled his length from her body before impaling her again slowly, and Hawke's mind exploded into nothingness; giving no thought for the world beyond their bed as she lost herself to the sensations she experienced and the man creating them within her. Lips claimed hers in a kiss so deep and demanding it should have gagged her, yet it wasn't enough, and she tilted her head, trying to taste more of Fenris' flavor until her head swam with the need for fresh air.

When at last they parted for breath her given name poured from his lips like a prayer, while the hand upon her hip pulled at her, squeezing her in an iron grip which he used to claim her in every possible way. Beside her she could feel his parted lips against her shell, and the air that they expelled; could hear the barest hint of his voice in each exhalation that did not carry her name with it. Alone, that would have been enough to unravel her.

Yet she could feel him within her; the slide of his heat, of iron and velveteen and _life_ as it pulsed and spread and stretched her. Never had she felt so sensitive. It was as though every nerve ending within her body had come alive, forcing her to experience every physical sensation with perfect clarity. The slide of his skin against her inner walls, the ridge of the bulbous tip as it stretched her insides, the flow of blood within his veins - she was aware of it all.

There was no build-up to her climax this time. It came on as suddenly and as powerfully as a physical blow, leaving her to cling to Fenris tightly as she lost herself to the ecstasy of his passion.

Teeth clamped down upon her throat and she whimpered when air at last returned to her lungs. Her arm had wrapped tightly around his shoulders during her release; fingers tangled in his hair or gripping the flesh of his backside as she held to him like she could at any moment be swept away and drown in another ocean of desire. For he yet moved within her; his rhythm as steady and compelling as it had been. Powerful muscles rolled and twisted between her thighs while he fought for control, for restraint. Already her overstimulated walls were tightening, readying to plummet her into another wave of passion that she wasn't all together certain she could take.

Yet it seemed control was escaping her beloved as well, for as he claimed her so completely that easy pace he had established in the beginning slowly began to unravel, and she could feel the urgency in his movements begin to build; could hear it in the ragged breaths against her neck.

"Raina," her name was a harsh croak of desire and crumbling resolve, "Aadiuvetis me [2]."

Against the tender bulge of her middle she could feel his muscles tense and bunch. He was so close, and all it would take from her would be a whisper, the proper angle...

Pressing against his weight, Hawke tipped her pelvis and instantly light danced before her eyes as Fenris' length struck that place deep within her that could shatter her so easily, while within her her lover surged; a groan as jagged and helpless as she had ever heard from him filled her senses as he spent himself deeply into her.

Then there was stillness, but for their shuddering breaths and hammering hearts as the lay entwined with one another. And after what could have been minutes or hours for all she knew, Fenris pushed himself to his elbows in order to peer down at her. His eyes were strangely peaceful as he searched her face, and she smiled at him through her fatigue. Dark fingers tangled into her black tresses as his springtime gaze held hers intently.

"When this is over," he murmured, "I am taking you away from here."

Beneath his regard Hawke smirked. "'Here' is a fairly general term, Fenris. Do you mean this tent? The Storm Coast?"

"Away from any who have heard of the Champion of Kirkwall," he said, and her humor died away at his quiet surety. "From any who would wish to use you towards their own gains." The fingers in her hair slipped down to trace over her cheekbone reverently. "I can no longer sit by and watch you risk your life for those who will not do for themselves what they ask of you."

Hawke tilted her head against the bedrolls beneath her. "You're saying we should abandon Thedas to its own devices?"

"I am saying we let another step in and save the world for once, yes."

Swallowing her fear she lifted her chin, trying to appear as determined as her present position would allow. "Alright. I'll agree to your terms provided you agree to mine."

An ebony brow above her arched curiously. "Which would be?"

"That you marry me."

The words were out at last, and it was clear from the wide eyes above her that they had been the last thing Fenris had expected.  In truth she had never expected to utter them - they contraticted everything she had tried to emulate in their relationship.  Marriage meant binding and permanence.  Fenris had lived as a slave for so long - he deserved his freedom, whatever she may wish.  

Before her, Fenris' gaze slipped from hers as he pushed himself off of her, and she rose to sit before him, watching his face as her demand sank in. It took longer than she thought it would but she did not speak.

"As a slave," he murmured at last, "I'd never considered what it might be like to have a family. And there are only flashes of my life before receiving the markings. I remember moments of having a mother, and a sister. But the thought of marrying... of having a child I was not bred to create..." he shook his head.

Hawke's throat tightened, nearly choking her from within. To hear him speak of himself as though he had been nothing more than livestock was never easy, even now. "Are you saying these are things you don't want?"

"I am saying these are things I never dreamt I might have." He replied quietly. "Have you ever entertained a desire so impossible you simply knew it could never be true? No, of course you wouldn't. Because to do so would serve no purpose beyond reminding yourself of what you could never have. That... is what you are offering me now."

"But you _can_ have it Fenris," she whispered, placing a hand over her stomach, "half of it is already yours."

"But it doesn't feel real," he pressed. "Not yet. Not until I see him; feel his weight in my arms."

In spite of herself Hawke felt her lips quirk slightly. "You said 'him'," she whispered.  It implied he had thought on the child as a person.  As someone of value.

Fenris' gaze slipped away for a moment while he contemplated the meaning behind her words. "That I did," he breathed, and then fell silent for so long that Hawke began to doubt herself.  She would not tolerate him being trapped by anyone - least of all her personally.

"Look Fenris," she sighed, "I don't want you to feel forced into doing something-"

"No," he growled; his eyes suddenly flashing before her with the fires of irritation she was so used to seeing, "do not do that."

Hawke blinked. "Do what?"

"Do not try to take back what you just asked for," he barked. "Not unless you truly do not want it." The ire smoothed from his features slightly at that; his brow furrowing, though not in anger. "Do you?" He spoke quietly again. "Wish to take it back?"

Her head shook before the word could leave her lips. "No," she whispered. "I want that dream."

"Then... it will be yours," he vowed solemnly. "When this is over, I will take you as my bride, and we will find a place where no one has heard the name Hawke."

Her heart surged within her chest and she realized that her elation at his commitment had been visible, for one of those rare, beautiful smiles of pure happiness lit his features.

"That might be difficult," she chimed, "you only have your given name. What will I be if not a Hawke?"

The smile upon his dark features melded into a cunning smirk as he took the taunt with good nature. "Beyond a nuisance?" He quipped and her grin grew more playful. She felt drunk on giddiness and physical gratification. "In Tevinter," her lover continued, "slaves who manage to secure their freedom often create surnames for themselves if they did not have one previously. I simply never felt the need to do so for myself. Until now."

"A new name," Hawke murmured thoughtfully, "a new name to go with a fresh start. I could get used to that."

Leaning into her, Fenris' palm cupped her cheek gently as his lips brushed over hers in a peppering of kisses broken only by his words. "Give me time," he murmured as his eyes slid closed before her, "and I will think of a name worthy of giving you."

 

XXXX

 

Rain had begun to fall again, the sound of it tapping on their canvas roof melding with the noise of the surf further off. Beyond that, and the occasional snort from one of the horses, the camp was blessedly silent. It would have been soothing had his mind not been buzzing so loudly.

He had come to terms with the fact that he would never earn back Hawke's heart, but the knowledge that she had turned to _him_ instead twisted his insides. The elf fed on his bigotry towards magekind like a drunkard on his ale. That Hawke - a mage sympathizer - could find happiness with someone like Fenris completely evaded Anders' understanding.

At first he had written the entire affair off as a distraction - something to take her mind from the hardships she had been facing - until Anders had discovered she was with child. His gut clenched at the thought and he rolled over, burying his face into his pillow.

And now this.

He should never have involved her in Kirkwall, he bemoaned inwardly. He should have kept her away; resisted temptation. Perhaps if he had, things would be different. She may never have chosen him, true, but she would not be with that rabid dog now, he was all but certain.

But she _was_ with him. Anders had heard the evidence of that last night; muffled sounds and voices the nearby sea had not been able to drown out. Then there had been a conversation he could not make out before they had resumed their coupling until just a short while ago when silence had at last claimed the camp.

This was no longer just a passing affair. For better or for worse, Hawke had made her choice.

And now Anders knew that he must make his.

 

XXXX

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *ahem*
> 
> Smut!!!
> 
> Someone once mentioned a while back that they would like to see Fenris in a sweeter love scene. That he had to be capable of it (which I totally agreed with!) But while I can't see Ser Broods-a-Lot lighting candles and feeding Hawke chocolates on a bed of rose petals, I CAN see him just really engaged and in tune with the emotions surrounding he and his lover while wanting to show her honest reverence. I think (hope) that this is a fairly canon depiction of Fenris showing his tender side. No wall-slamming, hair pulling, back scratching...
> 
> ...
> 
> I'm sorry, what were we talking about?
> 
> Oh. Right. 
> 
> Anyway, after all of that time in the Deep Roads I needed a change of pace, and with Hawke being "in a family way" I thought now was the perfect time to get them in bed while getting Fenris to show that he does have a soft side.
> 
> It won't be long now, kids...
> 
> Oh! Translations (just two this time:)
> 
> [1] I love your kiss,  
> [2] Join me.


	14. Acts of Desperation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faced with the consequences of Anders' choices, Hawke knows that she cannot sit by and wait. She must act. But when her actions have consequences of their own the former Champion is faced with yet another realization - one she had not encountered in years.

 

## ACT FOURTEEN: ACTS OF DESPERATION

 

 

His mind snapped to full awareness, snatching him back from the Fade where he had been lulling pleasantly. So often his sleep was plagued by nightmares of a life he had left behind, except for those nights when she lay curled in his arms. Only then did he find a quiet in his rest he could not attain alone.

Yet now the bedroll at his side lay empty and cool. She had been gone for some time. Strange that he had not awaken when she had risen…

His thoughts immediately shifted towards guarded bewilderment, for he knew himself well enough to understand that had he been able he would have roused with her. With a brisk flourish Fenris tore the remaining covers from his body as he took to his feet, hesitating only long enough to take note that Hawke’s pack and weapons were nowhere to be found. Headless of his state of undress he quickly exited the tent; the flaps if the canvas shelter parting to reveal the sun just peaking to the east and the horses dozing on their tethers.

Three horses. Only three, where there had been five just last night.

Curiosity gave way to alarm as he crossed the small encampment and burst into the Wardens’ tent. Within the matching structure the dwarf and the boy slept on, oblivious of their visitor. If there had once been a third occupant of the dwelling all traces of him had been erased; bedroll, supply pack, and mage’s staff had vanished with their owner, just had been the case with Hawke.

One mineral striped foot struck out - consciously restrained in spite of the rage that grew within him - and met with the dwarf’s thick shoulder. “Wake up,” the dark man snarled, ignoring the guttural curses the drunkard flung at him and the groggy murmurs from the boy who woke with the commotion. “Your mage is gone, and he has taken Hawke with him.”

“Warden Anders?” The boy warbled pathetically as he blinked the sleep from his eyes. “Gone? Where? Why?”

“I do not know his motives, nor do I care,” the warrior growled, “he is dangerous. Yet he is also a fool if he believes that I will not pursue him.”

The stable boy shook his head, perplexed. “There must be some mistake. He would never-”

“You do not know him as I do,” Fenris growled fiercely, baring his teeth as his hatred swelled within him, “if you did, you would know what he is capable of - as well as what he has already done.”

It was what Fenris knew the apostate to be capable of that concerned him most. Hawke’s former lover was more than capable of placing a sleep spell over the camp so that he could spirit her away in the night. For she would never go willingly with the mage; not mere hours after she and Fenris had planned a life together. A life she had asked him for, and one he had agreed to gladly.

No. His betrothed had been taken against her will, of that Fenris had no doubt. And while he doubted she had been harmed, the lengths that the abomination must have gone to in order to steal her away infuriated the warrior.

Driven on by a sickening mixture of rage and concern, Fenris stalked back to his tent to don his gear and retrieve his weapon. He had tracked her before; he would do it again.

And this time his beloved’s words would not be enough to spare the abomination. Too long the mage had been allowed to carry on unchecked in spite of his transgressions. He would answer for his crimes now…

And pay for them in blood.

  
XXXX

  
Her view had not changed this passed quarter hour, since she had woke to find herself sitting astride Horse with her hands lashed to the pommel of her saddle; her mount plodding along a narrow path that could only be somewhere within the Frostback Mountains. Horse’s bridle had been tethered to the mount she now followed, her pack hanging from that beast’s saddlebags - complete with her daggers.

She would not be cutting herself loose, then.

Knowing now that she would have to rely on guile to win her freedom, Hawke stared silently at the feathered shoulders swaying before her, and as she did she could feel the anger within her swelling; purposefully ignoring the way her stomach turned beneath her ribcage, and how her breasts were bouncing uncomfortably at the motion of the animal beneath her.

Clearly they had been riding for at least a few days, though not more than a week yet. They were climbing further into the mountains, not descending from their peaks. Her deduction of their location, combined with how sore her rear felt from riding, told her that they must have stopped infrequently - likely only long enough to rest the horses. How many times had Anders cast and re-cast his sleep spell upon her to keep her quiet, she mused. A dozen? More? Absently she wondered how many mana potions it had taken to keep her under, but quickly cast that thought aside. He could regenerate mana over time if he did not use his abilities, she recalled.

So it would come down to quick thinking, she decided. Well, there was no time like the present.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” She asked, her voice deceptively bland, though it took effort. “Or were you just planning to cast spells on me indefinitely?”

The honey colored head before her swiveled and she briefly caught sight of an unshaven jaw and handsomely tapered nose, until he turned his attention back to the path before them.

“Forgive me,” he said quietly, not bothering to turn and face her, “but I couldn’t in good conscience leave you with him again.”

“Is that so?” She drawled, her brow arched angrily in spite of being lost on the man whom she addressed. “Yes, I can see how I’m so much better off here with you.”

“He’s poisonous, Hawke,” Anders pressed, his head tilting down and off to one side slightly before her. “You have to see that.”

Hawke scowled, unwilling to allow her fiancé to be the reason she was in this predicament. “And yet I don’t recall Fenris killing hundreds of innocent people in a single attack.”

A scornful exhalation escaped the mage’s lips before his words. “He admitted to destroying an entire clan of Fog Warriors!”

“A slave killing armed warriors at the command of his master is not quite the same as an apostate deciding to blow up a Chantry filled with hundreds of frightened, unarmed people, Anders,” she countered. “But that debate could go on for days. So I’ll just come right to it instead. When are you going to release me?”

“As soon as you remember what it was that you were fighting for.”

“What I was fighting for?” Hawke parroted incredulously. “I was the Champion of Kirkwall. I fought to keep its people safe. But in case it escaped your notice, Kirkwall isn’t too fond of the idea of my return.”

“And what of the mages? Have you abandoned them as well?”

“The mages don’t need me, Anders. I doubt they ever truly did. At any rate, they’ve joined up with the Inquisition.”

“The Inquisition. It’s like the Circle all over again,” she could hear the contempt in the apostate’s voice. “When the King of Ferelden ordered them from his lands the mages had little choice but to accept the Inquisitor’s offer. She may call it an alliance, but the Inquisitor has made them nothing more than her tools. They fight for her, or they’re considered renegades and hunted wherever they go. And when this battle is done they will be no better than what they were with the templars.”

“And what exactly is it you think I can do for them?”

“Convince them to stand on their own!” Anders cried, drawing in his reigns so he could wheel his horse about and face her. She could see then that he was exhausted, and wondered absently if he had bothered to sleep at all since taking her. “You have no idea how you inspire others, Hawke. If anyone could make the mages see that they can survive without the Inquisition, without the Circle, it’s you!”

“But at what cost?” Hawke demanded. “Do you even know what it is the Inquisition fights against? Have you bothered to learn? Of course you haven’t. Because you’ve grown so wrapped up in mage freedom that you have lost sight of the greater threat.”

“That’s _his_ influence talking,” The apostate scowled. “The Hawke I knew would never have dismissed the mage plight so easily.”

“You leave Fenris out of this.” She growled quietly. “You speak of freedom and basic rights, and yet here I sit tied to a horse riding off to the Maker knows where against my will. Meanwhile the cure for the Taint is in that bag and in my veins - a cure that could save countless lives. Yet you ignore it in favor of dragging me off so that I can give a speech to a group of mages convincing them to abandon their posts, when they are likely a large part of Thedas’ last line of defense. Can you not see where your actions may border on fanatical?”

“You don’t-”

“Turn me loose, Anders.” Her voice was a hard command, carrying the razor’s edge of the hostility she felt slipping from her control.

“I can’t.” The apostate admitted. “This is why I came to the Deep Roads.”

“What - to abduct me?!”

“No!” Anders barked angrily. “To regain you as an ally. It’s not just the mages that need your support,” his voice was softer, lower, “I need you, Hawke. Your support meant everything to me. Whenever I felt like giving up you were there, giving me strength where I thought I had none left. I’ve come to rely on you over the years. Without you that strength, that belief that I can make a difference, it slips away.”

Hawke felt her skin crawl with apprehension. This was not a matter of delivering a simple speech to the mages. What he said hinted at a strong possibility of permanence. “Perhaps that’s as it should be,” she grated. Yet the man before her shook his head, his hand gesturing emphatically.

“Don’t you see? This is exactly why I must take you away from him.” Anders pleaded. “Fenris has poisoned you against the cause you stood for all of those years. I listen to you now and I shudder to think of what could happen to the mage cause if you continue to slip down this path. If you grow vocal against the mages, others will follow. You have that power, Hawke, whether you choose to believe it or not. I cannot allow you to turn against the mages. You are either with us or-”

“Or what, Anders?” She demanded, her eyes narrowing as her stomach flipped. “Dead?”

“No,” his voice was barely a whisper, nearly lost to her in the mountain’s winds. “Maker forgive me, but even if you were to turn against the mages completely, I could no more kill you than I could Justice. In the end, you are as much a part of who I am as he is.” 

“That is where you’re wrong, Anders,” she replied vehemently, “you nearly did kill me. Two years ago in Kirkwall, when you blew up the Chantry you destroyed a piece of my soul with it. For so long I blamed myself; hated myself. But no more. I will not turn against the mages, but I will not help you, either. Your battle has gone far beyond mage equality. You are consumed by your need for vengeance against the world, and I’ll play no part in that.”

“I wish I could believe you, Hawke,” Anders moaned quietly, “I wish I could believe that you will continue to support the mages. But your actions, or rather your willingness to not take action, gives me reason to doubt your word.”

An angry smirk split her features - one she could tell unnerved him from his reaction. “Between the pair of us, I am not the liar here, Anders.”

“People change,” he replied softly, “you know this better than most.” Pulling gently on his horse’s reigns, the apostate turned his mount back down the path. “I’m sorry, Hawke. But I can't let you go. Not until I figure out a way to make you see reason again. Please. Please just… try to remember why it was you fought with me.”

And with that Hawke knew that the conversation was over. Her heart thrummed angrily in her chest for a time, as she searched for something - anything - that would get this man to see reason. But as the sky began to change hues with the coming evening, despair crept up upon her, and with it the nausea that she had been using her ire to successfully battle down. She could find no argument that would make him see reason. Logic no longer worked with her former lover.

Without her anger to distract her, Hawke felt her stomach twisting and roiling again; her mouth watering and her throat constricting in familiar threat.

“Anders,” she moaned at last, “let me off this horse.”

The golden head before her shook slowly. “I’m sorry, Hawke, but I can’t-”

“It’s the pregnancy sickness,” she croaked around a spasm in her throat, “let me off now, or I’ll fall out of this saddle!” The desperation in her tone must have convinced him, because the mage’s head whipped around and in no time he was beside her leg, untying the strap that held her to the pommel - if not completely freeing her hands - and helping her to crouch down beside the rocky ledge of the path so that she could heave miserably over the pebbled incline. She had not eaten for days, but her stomach had already proven to her that being empty would not prevent it from revolting, and for several miserable minutes it reminded her that she still had other concerns beyond her capture.

At last her body’s fruitless attempts ended and she was finally able to catch her breath. “Water?” She panted weakly, feeling parched. Anders rose and quickly returned to his horse, where the water skin was affixed to his saddle bag -

\- and Hawke suddenly found her opportunity. Mad though it may be, it was the only chance she could think of to escape, and so she gave no further thought to her attempt as she pitched herself over the side of the path and slid down the steep slopes on her rear; her tender flesh bruising on rocks and fissures as she passed. Anders’ voice followed her for a time, until the roar of wind in her ears and the hiss of her leathers against the rough stone drown out his calls.

Her speed increased steadily and she felt her concern at not being able to escape shift into an even greater concern - the fear that she would not be able to stop her descent. With her hands bound before her she could not reach out to either side to grab at an outcrop, and in her condition flipping over onto her stomach so that she could claw at the stones she slid over was out of the question. Instead she dug her heals into the ground, finding the task difficult, though, when so much of the ground refused to yield to her leather soles.

And then pain lanced abruptly through her shins and her shoulders lurched forward when at last her heals caught on a small raised ledge of stone, and for a moment she remained where she sat, taking stock of her situation. Her legs were unbroken, though one continued to experience shooting pains through the bone - perhaps a slight fracture, but nothing so severe that she could not use it in an emergency. And while her rump burned with the friction of her passage, her armor remained mostly intact.

Her next concern brought her attention to the top of the incline she had just slid down. High above her, a diminutive man and two miniature horses stood, and while she could not see his face from this distance, Hawke was certain his attention was still on her.

Rising up onto legs weakened by their disuse and the assault she had just put upon them, she began the slow process of climbing and slipping down the slope, for she knew that this would now become a race. If she couldn't reach the base of the mountain before Anders she would not get another opportunity to escape him.

Half expecting bolts of lightening or gouts of flame to come rushing at her from above, she was slightly surprised to find that at least part of what the apostate had told her had been true; Anders could not bring himself to kill her.

It came as less of a surprise to her, however, when she realized that she could no longer make the same promise on his behalf.

  
XXXX

  
Four days. Four days of bringing the horses and his incomprehensible companions to the point of exhaustion had at last brought Fenris to the road which took travelers through the Frostback Mountains. The mage was taking Hawke into Orlais, it seemed. And while it had been their intent to deliver the cure to the Grey Warden Commander at a small inn in the town of Velun, Fenris could not imagine the abomination shared that intent. If he had it would have been far simpler to remain in the larger party.

No, the mage had other reasons for taking Hawke into the empire, and yet Fenris could think of nothing that would prevent him from ripping out the man’s still-beating heart when next they met.

“Ser Fenris,” the stable boy called from his saddle, shivering in the evening chill, “it’s nearly nightfall. Shouldn’t we stop? You won’t be able to see their tracks in the dark, after all.”

Fenris growled, his teeth flashed from between straining lips, and while his first impulse was to spit out an obscenity and order the boy’s silence, he quickly thought better of it.

“Make camp in those trees,” he barked after a moment, pointing to a small thicket a short distance up the road. “I will ride on a while longer and circle back at dark.”

Behind him the dwarf hooted a low sound of amusement. Fenris had found himself half convinced early on that the man followed to watch the abomination meet his end, while the other side of his reasoning believed that the Warden followed Fenris to prevent the mage’s death - for it seemed that the dwarf had an odd affinity for verbally assaulting the mage whenever the moment struck him.

If the dwarf’s intent was to bear witness to the spectacle, Fenris would allow him that small privilege. But if it was to intervene, the warrior found that he would likely be able to dispatch the vulgar fighter as well with little remorse.

With a wordless shout Fenris ordered his mount into a gallop, paying heed to the path before him as he passed over it. The tracks were not always present, but the mage had not enough forethought or skill to cover them as Hawke frequently had. It had made pursuit that much easier these past few days, Fenris found, and not once had the elf had to backtrack to find the trail he had lost. It was one small comfort in a situation that had his stomach twisting and his spine as rigid as tempered steel.

It also helped that the horses he followed could not break into a full gallop - not when one carried an unconscious woman upon its back. It would be too easy for her to be thrown in such a case. The tracks her lover followed showed that Hawke and her abductor traveled at a caravan’s pace. Fenris, however, was bound only by his need to keep to their trail, and had spurred his horse into short sprints whenever the way was clearly laid out before him for a time, or when there was only one logical path to tread.

Such was the case here for, as he suspected, the tracks of the pair of horses took Fenris exactly where he knew they would; passing through the stone archway signifying the point of entry to the Frostback Mountains. Their travel would grow even slower the further they ascended, but Fenris held none of the same concerns. if necessary he would walk beside his horse through the mountains if it meant outpacing the mage.

But the boy - Wilhelm - had been right. The hoof prints were all but lost in the cover of darkness now. Irritated, Fenris cursed viciously under his breath and turned his horse back to where the others had made camp. He loathed the idea of leaving Hawke to that madman for another night, but there was little choice in that. If he tried to press on further he could very well pick his way along the correct path, but the risk of slipping and falling from a precipice was too great. He would be of no use to Hawke if he ended up dead at the bottom of a gorge.

With an angry kick of his bare heals he spurred the animal back to where the Wardens were making camp; the evening air doing little to cool his temper. Sunrise would come sooner for Fenris than the mage, for the warrior and his followers were still on the eastern side of the mountains. He would see their camp torn down before dawn and would use the advantage to the fullest.

_Wait for me, Hawke. I will find you. I swear it._

  
XXXX

 

She pressed herself low into the underbrush, shivering against the cold; her efforts at cutting through her ropes with a jagged piece of stone temporarily stilled. The hoofbeats that had just thundered by had come from the mountain path, not more than ten paces from where she now lay. They had passed quickly, and she wondered if Anders had abandoned Horse in the mountains so he could catch her up, for it sounded like it had only been one horse. The thought pained her enough to prickle her eyes anew. Horse had been a loyal companion to her these past weeks, and in her need to be away from her captor she had not thought about what she would be leaving behind until it was too late.

Now her horse, her weapons, her supplies, and the cure to the Taint were all lost to her, for she was in no position to face Anders and reclaim them alone.

Hawke held her breath, listening to the clatter grow quieter as horse and rider raced down the road. Once they were barely audible she rose and turned north, picking her way through the trees as quickly as her injured leg would allow. Anders would turn back eventually, once he reached a point where he knew she could have gone no further. She had to be out of sight by then, and Ferelden forests were most often the Maker’s own mazes.

Her stomach tried to force her to heave once more and she gagged as she stumbled along, tears of exertion and misery and dread painting lines down her cheeks. She cursed Anders and longed for Fenris in the same thought.

A breeze caught her shoulders, bringing forth a violent shudder; and from that tremor the sliver stone she had been using to work at her bindings suddenly slipped from fingers that had grown numb with cold. Hawke signed an exasperated Tevinter curse, feeling closer to her beloved in the small act, but no less lost. Stooping, she ran her restrained palms over the dirt and brush, trying to find her makeshift tool. She knew all too well that if she abandoned it she’d never get free, for there were only smooth, weathered stones in the forests.

Several minutes passed with her searching and swearing when a sudden prickling at her senses had her holding her breath while remaining utterly still. She waited where she was, crouched in the foliage on her haunches, when she heard it again - the distant sound of something or _somethings_ moving in the brush. Nothing as large as a horse, but just as confident.

Wolves. Not yet close, but if the winds changed she would not last long. Not with her hands bound and her leg partially lame. Slowly she moved to stand before halting the effort immediately when the motion rustled the leaves at her flanks.

Horrified, Hawke realized that she was trapped in place.

A moment passed and then, through her lips, the barest of whispers emanated; words she had not spoken in years scarcely reaching her own ears.

“O Maker, hear my cry:  
Guide me through the blackest nights.  
Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked.  
Make me to rest in the warmest places.”

For now, once again, she feared for the life of her child. And this time there was no Fenris to steer her towards salvation. No Aveline. No Varric. She was alone. Alone, and the only person with the power to keep her child safe. And, stripped of allies, of weapons, of guile, and all of the other tricks she had used to secure her life over the years, now she returned to that long-abandoned faith, abandoning her pride and crawling back to the Maker’s sight if only for the sake of her babe.

“Maker, though the darkness comes upon me,  
I shall embrace the Light. I shall weather the storm.  
I shall endure.  
What you have created, no one can tear asunder.”

Picking her verses deliberately, Hawke breathed them into the night air, hoping that somehow, in some way, they would see her to the next sunrise.

  
XXXX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I am sooooo sorry this took so long to get out. Between a very awesome family vacation, and then coming home to find my dad in the hospital - and have him there for the past two and a half months - I've had a lot going on, and unfortunately writing had to wait. That much stress can really kill your muse's motivation, you know?
> 
> But now that things have calmed down we're baaaaack! The muse is still struggling a bit, but she finally found an idea that she could really sink her teeth into. ;)
> 
> Poor Hawke. She just can't catch a freaking break. 
> 
> And as for our favorite apostate, my theory is that this is sort of cannon for him. Over the years in DA2, we watch him grow more and more paranoid; more secretive and mistrustful of everyone - including Hawke, to an extent. His convictions become more fanatical, and eventually it ends with that famous 'bang'. I think that, if you let Anders live at the end, this is the natural progression for his story line. His whole life has been wrapped up in Hawke and his rebellion for the passed ten years. 
> 
> He's one of those people who are so desperate to do the right thing, that in the process they lose sight of what makes it the right thing, and slowly they become the enemy. Not out of malice or intent. But just because they can't see that all of those small (and not so small) sins add up.
> 
> For those of you Anders lovers out there, please don't hate me...


	15. Monsters and Machinations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Separated from her companions and her weapons, Hawke is left with few options and one dreadful certainty. Armed with only guile and a silver tongue, she finds herself in a race against time to safeguard the man who gave her a reason to fight and captured her heart in turn. She must reach Fenris before he finds his prey.
> 
> Because she cannot lose another person who holds her heart.
> 
> She will not.

## ACT FIFTEEN: MONSTERS AND MACHINATIONS

  
_“Hawke, no! Don’t do this - please!_ Please! _You are nothing like him! I won’t let him twist you!”_

Hawke flinched from her thoughts and dipped her wrists into the shallow stream once more, hissing at the sting the cool waters brought about. The bindings had rubbed the skin beneath the ropes raw during the night. Yet she was grateful for the pain. It gave her something to focus on beyond the ever-growing nausea that had found her moments after her eyes had opened; and even that did not bring on her irritation as it had before.

Because she had come through the night alive. Exhausted, and stiff from employing her stealth abilities for so long, but alive. Neither the wolves nor Anders had found her, unless her dreams counted for anything. For when she had finally succumb to her exhaustion, the mage’s last words to her had followed her into the Fade; the noise of her rough passage down the mountainside somehow failing to muddle his cries this time. She had not given his words much thought at the time of her escape, having been consumed by her need to get as far away from the apostate as possible. Yet now they had followed her from the Fade and into wakefulness, echoing in her head as any terrible nightmare would. But his vow had been real, and that made it all the worse.

So when the first bleeding glow of sunlight had painted the skies above the trees, she was at last able to locate the shard she had been using to tear away her ropes and finished the task properly; her mind churning as she struggled to stamp down worry with reason.

She had little doubt that Fenris would be following her trail by now, or attempting to at any rate. He wasn’t as adept at tracking as she was, but he had proven his ability to find her before. And Anders would not have been able to cover their tracks with her hampering their progress. So there was a very good chance that her lover would cross paths with the apostate sooner or later.

She could backtrack the path she and Anders had taken in the hopes of intercepting Fenris, but for how long? What if he strayed from the trail slightly? If she missed him there would be no catching him up; he was mounted and her horse was as good as lost to her.

She had no weapons. No supplies, and only the vaguest guess as to her present location.

But she did have an idea, one that bloomed in her thoughts; slowly at first, but unfurling more and more quickly with each condition - each step she would need to follow to see it through. It would not be easy, and it would involve breaking her promise to Fenris to retire from fighting, but under the circumstances she felt the warrior would forgive her this one betrayal.

A small smile tucked at her cheek as she came to decide on her first course of action, and Hawke thanked the Maker for the friends she had been graced with for so many years. As crazy as they may have been, they had one and all taught her something; different lessons that had at times been welcome, and at other times stung worse than any battle wound. Now one such lesson would save the life of the man who had given her a reason to rise up once more.

Because Fenris was out there, and now it was his life that was in danger. If he and Anders found each other first there would be a battle, she was certain. But the victor of that battle was something she could not guess at. Both men were fierce fighters, and deadly in their chosen styles and capable of destroying the other if presented the opportunity.

Losing her family one after another had crushed her. Losing Anders had nearly broken her.

She could not lost Fenris, too.

And it was resolve - not fear - that filled her at the thought. She had had enough.

Enough loss.

Enough goodbyes.

No more.

She accepted the determination consuming her; blinding her to the tension between her shoulders, and nearly doing the same for the clenching of her throat as her stomach roiled.

Certain of herself as she had not been in so long, Hawke began her trek through the forest; her eyes open and her mind already buzzing in preparation of the next four steps before her.

She would not fail him.

  
XXXX

  
Though dawn had only just broken a few moments ago, they had already been on their path for over an hour. Stone and pebbles rattled as they were jostled loose underfoot and trickled down the cliffside; the route steadily narrowing the further they went. Yet Fenris had little doubt the abomination and Hawke had traveled this way. The rock-studded path had recently been scraped fresh by metal-shod hooves, though it was unlikely that the passers-by would have been merchants. The passage was unkempt and clearly not one regularly used by folk with reason to cross through the mountains. Indeed, it was barely wide enough for a horse to traverse, and Fenris’ own mount had nearly shied itself to its own death until the warrior had dismounted and blindfolded the beast; the two followers behind him immediately taking up his example.

Despite his prior convictions, however, Fenris found his equanimity crumbling beneath the pressure of his sense of urgency; the slow pace only strengthening his impression of losing precious ground. Hawke’s captor could already be over the hardest terrain and gaining distance between them. It was maddening, and on more than one occasion he found himself grinding his teeth and spitting out venomous curses for the mage; hostile words that, while mostly Tevene, had the boy he traveled with lagging further behind. This, naturally, only succeeded in piquing the elf’s rage all the more until at last he could no longer hold his tongue.

“If my behavior insights such fear in you perhaps you should turn back now and save us both your cowardice,” he growled, teeth bared and eyes flashing at the boy shuffling behind. “Your assistance is not so invaluable that I will not leave you here if you fall behind.”

“Aye, well we aren’t too fond of you either, lover boy,” the dwarf grumbled, edging up between the stablehand and the cliffside so he could lay puffy eyes upon Fenris, “but your woman has what our Commander sent us for. We find her, we find the cure. And I’ve got a pretty personal interest in getting that back myself. So until we find her you’ve got yourself some company.”

With a gaze of cold steel Fenris appraised the dwarf; his words rumbling forth without hesitation. “Follow if you must, but the abomination will not escape me,” the dark man growled. “Fall behind and I’ll not wait for you. Interfere with my plans for the mage, and I’ll have no issue granting you the same fate.”

With an expression as hard as the stone his people claimed to hail from, the berserker strolled up to Fenris until the red braids of his beard nearly brushed the elf’s chest plate; his chest puffed up like a dragon ready to belch flame.

“You just keep your eyes on the tracks,” the dwarf growled, the smell of unidentified liquor and body odor lifting from him noxiously, “or I’ll give you another Warden to worry about.”

“P-pardon me, sers,” the voice of the stablehand warbled forth, and Fenris afforded the boy the briefest glances from above his snarl and gnashing teeth, noting at last the way the servant was not watching the heated exchange, but a place off in the distance. A timid finger rose when he realized he had earned the attention of the quarreling men and, disregarding the drunkard before him, Fenris followed the boy’s gesture; as his eyes skimmed over grey stone dotted white where dustings of snow were just beginning to speckle the landscape as they climbed further into the mountains.

And in the distance, beyond a valley choked dark with trees, a reddish-orange glow - tiny but brilliant and unmistakable - flickered against the rock face.

Mage-born fire, streaking through the air at an unseen, distant target.

And though he could not make out the figures embroiled in battle, Fenris’ world narrowed into a tunnel of unbridled hatred.

_At last._

  
XXXX

_  
At last._

She had begun to think she had misremembered the stories she used to hear, and was grateful to find that had not been the case when at last her awareness first picked up on the first subtle signs that she was no longer alone.

She continued her pace steadily, ignoring the eyes she knew were on her until they were ready for her to see them. They would come for her if she drew close enough; and if she somehow managed to lose them she would simply need to backtrack until she regained their attention before trying a new path.

Thankfully that much effort was not necessary.

“Venavis!” The call came more quickly than she had anticipated, and from a masculine voice. She must be very close. Obediently Hawke stopped, turning only her head in the direction of the speaker.

“Greetings,” she called respectfully as her gaze finally caught sight of the ginger-haired elf; his fingers holding a nocked arrow to a barely taught bowstring, though she did not mistake this as a sign of ease. “I seek an audience with your Keeper.”

“The People do not associate with shemlen,” the man announced, “turn back the way you came, stranger.”

“Your People have had dealings with me in the past,” she revealed with a carefully neutral voice. If her plan was to have any chance of success she had to fall into the clan’s good graces. “At Sundermount, where I met with Asha’belannar at the request of Keeper Marethari.”

The man before her froze, his surprise clear in his features even as he tried to disguise it. “You know of Asha’belannar?” It was a quiet question, with little skepticism evident. At last his bow arm lowered and he waved to her, beckoning her to follow. “Very well. Come. The Keeper will wish to hear what you have to say.”

She had been correct in her assumption that the camp was close, in spite of how well it had been hidden, for it took the hunter only a matter of minutes to bring her to his clan. Merrill’s stories had been full of the details of how the Dalish traveled and why. They did not wander aimlessly as most humans and city-born elves thought. Hawke had simply needed to take in the state of the forest and the time of the year to determine where the clan would have likely moved to. That the hunter had stopped her so quickly either meant that he wanted to assert himself to an intruder, or that she was drawing too close to the camp. Either reason suited Hawke just fine.

And in truth there had been no guarantee that she would find a camp. Just because the forest could support a Dalish encampment did not mean one had come through. Still, it was better than her alternate plan of hiking what could have been days out of her way along a main road to find a human settlement. That would have certainly lost her Fenris’ trail, she knew. Danish may be mistrustful, but if one could gain their trust they were invaluable to have as allies in times of need.

Now she could see the eyes that followed her as she was led into the clan’s camp; through wagons where faces wearing expressions of curiosity, fear, excitement, and hostility surrounded her. It was easy enough for her to adapt her Champion’s visage and maintain her composure. She had a reason to be here - a purpose - and these people would aid her in that if she conducted herself properly. At last her guide stopped before an older woman with dark hair streaking grey at the temples; her robes finer and longer than the rest.

“Aneth ara, Keeper Ariren,” her escort recited with a slight bob of his head in greeting, “I bring a shemlen who seeks an audience with you. She claims to have served Keeper Marethari in the past.”

The Keeper eyed Hawke thoughtfully. “Did you, stranger?”

“Greetings, Keeper Ariren,” Hawke replied, giving a slightly deeper bow of her head, “my name is Hawke. I knew Keeper Marethari when her People rested at the base of Sundermount.”

“I knew Keeper Marethari,” the elder woman replied cooly. “We held counsel together on several occasions in the past. I am also aware that she died on Sundermount. Clearly your service to her was less than ideal.”

“My promise to the Keeper was not to protect her,” Hawke replied, “it was to aid her First in completing a ritual. A ritual which called forth Asha’belannar.”

The serene composure Ariren had been holding to slipped at the title. “You? A shemlen? Did the Keeper tell you why your help was necessary to complete such a task?”

“It was the fulfillment of a promise Keeper Marethari had made to Asha’belannar long before our meeting. I was to protect her First in the journey up the mountain to where the ritual was to take place. That is all that I know.”

“And you helped The People just like that?” Her hunter-escort demanded incredulously. “With no desires or gains of your own?”

“I gained a friend in the First I assisted,” Hawke answered, “though I admit now that had not been my original intent. I had a promise to keep to Asha’belannar as well. She saved my life once, when the Blight first came to Ferelden. That is why I went.”

The Keeper watched Hawke silently for a time, her expression difficult to read, but not impossible. And so Hawke held her tongue and waited. “If Asha’belannar saw fit to save your life there must have been a purpose to her actions,” Ariren admitted at last, casting a silencing but not unkind gaze at the man standing beside Hawke. “And you respected our ways enough to keep your word to her. For that you have my attention. Tell me, what has brought you to seek out my clan?”

Hawke took a breath. It was time to ply every bit of Dalish tact Merrill had graced her with.

And she had not a second more to waste.

  
XXXX

  
His skin was practically vibrating with a near electric tingle of anticipation. They were close. Not for the first time since he had started them down the slope and into the valley, Fenris’ fingers flexed within his gauntlets; fingers rolling to keep them limber for when it came time to draw blade. He became almost heedless to the dangers of the path beneath their feet, skittering on dirt and gravel as they descended. The only consideration he gave was to his horse, whom he would need if speed became a necessity. When the animal’s footing began to fail on the hazardous terrain Fenris would slow, murmuring quiet demands at his mount more for his benefit than the animal’s.

Distantly he heard the two men at his back speak to their animals similarly, but true to his prior promise he refused to slow for them when it was they who stumbled. If their precious cure was so important to them then let them earn it - Fenris had concerns of his own to attend to. The dwarf’s raucous curses were ignored until at last the man seemingly gave up attempting to abuse the one they followed and instead raised protest at his long-dead ancestors.

Wisely, the boy had chosen to remain silent; his face pinched in concentration when Fenris caught the occasional glance from the corner of his eye.

Their efforts did not go unrewarded, however. The sun crested and began it’s slide down the horizon once more before they finally began their ascent from the trees. By early afternoon they had at last reached the place where they had witnessed the mage fire; blackened char showed signs of the fight, and the bodies of three scorched wolves lay a short distance down the side of the mountain; wisps of smoke still rising from them in thin tendrils.

Part of him felt relief that it had not been Hawke the abomination had raised spells against. After spotting the flames earlier, Fenris had worried that she might have tried to fight the mage herself, and had earned a battle against the demon in turn. And while Fenris would not fault her the attempt, the idea of Hawke taking up blades against someone so keenly aware of her strengths and weaknesses had his throat clenching in apprehension.

So it was that the sight of the slaughtered hunters quickly shifted from reassuring to a reinforcement of the fact that he needed to hurry. His betrothed had never been one for rational choices or cautious actions. She may be unharmed for now, but that did not mean her patience would leave it so. With every moment that passed the odds of her taking matters into her own hands increased; and while she was capable, she was also at a distinct disadvantage. There would be no element of surprise against the man she had once called her lover. No physical superiority to him in her present state.

Indeed, there was no guarantees beyond her irrational temper and her stubborn insistence that she needed no aid.

Fenris growled low in his throat.

She would be the death of him yet.

  
XXXX

  
The horse beside him nickered quietly and he gave a gentle tug of the reins in response, only partially aware of the animal’s agitation as he stared off into the distance. His plans would have to change now, but he could not admit to regretting this necessity. It would have happened sooner or later - better to be done with it now than risk losing her further.

The horses were quickly tethered to a rock formation further up the path and their eyes wrapped to prevent them from trying to bolt. He did not dare spell them for sleep; they would need to be alert when it came time to leave.

Returning to the narrow plateau he watched as in the distance three men leading horses of their own trudged up the mountainside path he had been following. One among them held a considerable lead over the others; his silver hair acting as a beacon in the shadows.

The elf had come for Hawke.

Anders would give him death instead.

His blood quickened in his veins as the mage drew his staff and waited, watching from behind a rocky outcrop as his pursuers drew closer. This didn’t have to be a glorious battle to the death. Fenris need only die - and if that was by an unseen, unknown attack that suited Anders just fine. Whatever it took to keep him from poisoning Hawke further and robbing her of what made her special; what had made her a hero to so many.

Anders may never again call her lover, or even friend, but that did not mean he had stopped caring. Maker preserve him, he doubted he ever could. So he would protect her from the former slave’s prejudices. He would give her a chance to return to her own beliefs - to raise her child to share those beliefs, free of its father’s influence.

The apostate would give her the chance to return to a cause she had dedicated herself to so completely in Kirkwall. He would give her back herself while giving the mages the Champion they so desperately needed.

Even if he could never redeem himself in her eyes, Anders would at least do this for her. He owed her no less.

At last the moment presented itself and the mage emerged from his hiding place behind the ledge; staff spinning and energies swirling as he summoned stone fist and slammed it into the mountainside above Fenris’ head-

-just as green eyes lifted and locked onto his; hatred blooming upon that tattooed face as it did in his own heart.

The horse in the elf’s hand screamed as it broke free, while dark skin and pale hair shimmered; blue light coloring his surroundings as it did his person and erasing the presence of physical form. With a percussive sound ripping through the air the elf shot forward like an arrow from a bow, passing through the rockslide as though it did not exist and emerging from its edges unscathed. In that same flurry of motion the warrior had drawn his weapon and now stood before Anders; his eyes narrowing briefly as they lifted to the place where the mage had secured his horses.

“Where is she?” It was a growl, jagged and primal and as hostile as the blade in his grasp. Anders’ staff spun behind his back readily.

“Out of your reach,” he replied. “Your days of manipulating her are over.”

Lyrium markings flared brightly before Anders, tinting a mouthful of teeth blue as he sneered like the wild dog that he was. “If you have harmed her, mage, I swear that when this is over, and your corpse lies at my feet, I will follow you into the Fade and personally see to it that you spend eternity suffering as the monster you are.”

“Then by all means,” Anders replied smoothly, his staff already twirling in his grasp, “let’s not keep the Maker waiting.”

  
XXXX

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go. Now we get to the FUN part. Unfortunately I'm out of drafts and am now working from scratch on each chapter, so they'll take some time to each come out. Not too much time, I would think, because now we're getting down to the end and the action. 
> 
> This chapter feels a little odd to me. I just came out of playing DAI and I'm kind of still in DAI Hangover. Solas and Cullen and Trespasser - oh my! I hope that it turned out well at any rate.
> 
> Thank you, as always, for reading!


	16. There Can Be No Compromise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After more than five years... it has come to this.

## ACT SIXTEEN: THERE CAN BE NO COMPROMISE

  
Her backside was growing numb from the motion beneath her, but Hawke ignored the discomfort; pressing her hands into the warm shoulders before her to better steady herself. Her borrowed weapons weighed heavily at her back, and she reached a hand up to cinch the strap tighter to her chest. She was used to carrying her weapons behind her shoulders, and the difference now had her constantly wanting to rub at the place along her spine that she could not reach. But this weapon, and the pouch at her hip, had been given to her freely by the People, and the aid they had offered was her only chance at protecting the man she loved; aid which included the animal now speeding her through the mountains expertly.

In spite of its size, the halla ran at a pace that easily matched any horse she had ever ridden; its hooves deftly finding footing in the gravel that her own mount had struggled to achieve during her last passages. She had always thought of goats as being the only creatures well suited for mountain life, and had never considered the companions to the Dalish to be equally adept at maneuvering the treacherous slopes. The lack of a saddle was less than ideal for her, of course, but the Keeper had made it known that the hallas were not horses, and the People did not bind them into service. The companions to the Dalish were free to come and go as they wished, and wore only the barest of riggings when pulling the aravels. Small coverings similar to saddle blankets were the closest the clan came to riding equipment, and Hawke readily accepted this without complaint.

And then there was the final favor granted to her by the Keeper; Nelan - the man who had first taken her to the Dalish encampment that morning - now acted as tracker and guide for her, directing the halla he rode as he followed the path of the men Hawke sought. While she knew herself to be a decent tracker, Hawke had also known that if she hoped to reach Fenris with any kind of speed she would need the eyes of a Dalish hunter. They had a generations of training over her, and could find trails where she would see nothing.

Without the help of a Dalish clan, Hawke would have lost days or even longer in her attempts to find her lover.

Abruptly Nelan veered from the path, and the legs of the stag carrying him tensed as it half-pranced and half slid down the side of the mountain; her own halla following suit without prompting. Here she could once again see signs of prior passage; large depressions created by boots digging into the dry soil, semicircles created by horse hooves, and the slight, barely perceptible traces of bare feet in the gravel were noticeable in some places while lost to her entirely in others. For whatever reason, Fenris’ group had left the road, and her stomach twisted at the possibilities. “Are we close?” She worried that her voice would be buried beneath the clatter of scattering rock and pebbles, but the man before her turned his head back slightly.

“We are gaining ground,” he called back, “they do not know these lands and are traveling them poorly-”

His words were cut off when a rumble too jagged and broken to be thunder abruptly drowned out his voice. Hawke lifted her eyes to watch as stone tore free from the mountain over the next rise, while from within its cascade a blue light sizzled and flew as straight and dangerous as a bolt of lightening; its target a point nearly too dark and tiny to make out at this distance. But she did not need to see it to know what was happening.

Her heart dropped in her chest.

She was too late.

  
XXXX

  
His blood rushed - _sang_ \- through his veins like the lyrium burned into his flesh. He had endured years of watching this creature use and twist Hawke to his own ends; of watching her bend her conscience over and over for this abomination in the name of love and loyalty, before finally reducing herself to serve nothing more than the memory of what had been. Because once the mage had helped to save her sister. Because once he had called her friend and then lover; his beguiling words and pleasing appearance luring her in until she had woven herself inextricably into his grasp.

Until she was nothing more than a tool in his murderous plot.

No more.

Fenris sneered.

“Do not make me ask you again, mage,” he growled, his grip upon his sword shifting, creaking against leather, as he readied himself to move. “Tell me where to find Hawke.”

His adversary granted him a humorless smirk and Fenris felt his insides turn cold, for it was an expression born of mad resolution; of suicidal carelessness. He’d seen that look in the eyes of so many blood mages the abomination claimed to detest so heartily. Men and women who had willingly abandoned sanity for the sake of power. “She is beyond you,” the blonde replied, “and beyond me. Neither of us will ever be able to hurt her again.

“We’re going to die here today,” Anders stated simply through that hard, hopeless smile, “you and I. We’ll kill each other here and Hawke will be free again to do what is in her heart. She’ll remember who she really is.”

“Free.” Fenris spat. “Is that what drove you to take her from her tent in the night? To abduct her against her will? You’re as deluded as you are dangerous.”

The smile slipped and a scowl of disgust settled over the unshaven cheeks and shadowed eyes. “She thinks that she loves you,” the mage responded with a tone that mirrored his expression, “she thinks she’s with you because you’re what she wants. But she’ll be no happier with you than she was with me. You’ll hurt her, as I did, until there’s nothing left of the woman we met in Kirkwall. Until she’s too damaged to remember who she is and what she believes in. You’ll break her as certainly as I did.”

 _“Never.”_ The snarl ripped from the elf’s throat like a hurricane’s winds; his markings casting a brilliant blue glow about them until the red-orange light of Anders’ fireball exploded into being. And Fenris leapt; his massive sword slicing through the air with a speed that had saved his life on countless occasions. Equally quick, Anders stepped aside as Fenris' blade passed with an aery whistle, missing the black feathers of his garment by a knife’s edge. Booted feet slid over gravel and dirt in a move clumsily reminiscent of the rogue they now fought for. The mage had picked up a few maneuvers from Hawke over the years; simple ways to stay just out of reach of the enemy until ready to face them, though not nearly as graceful or athletic as the woman who could flit through a battle so effortlessly.

Pale light embraced dark-skinned man, and flames which would have normally been hot enough to break stone were reduced to a momentary annoyance. For Fenris had been a magister's weapon, molded to serve as an advantage over those who would try to usurp his former master's power. He knew well how to all but negate attacks of all natures for a time; knew how best to ply the markings upon his body to his advantage. And while the lyrium burned like the sting of hot metal kissing his skin, the magical attack it had absorbed caused him no great injury. The pain of his markings could be ignored for the time being.

Disregarding the smaller attacks which followed the flames, the warrior sprinted forward, shoulders tensing as his great sword arched up before him, and as Anders shifted quickly to one side Fenris followed through with a massive sideswipe, gratified when a low cry and a small spattering of blood followed the blow.

His markings dampened - holding them open continuously proved too taxing on his stamina - and those white orbs of energy suddenly carried with them consequences that brought forth patches of stinging flesh and sharp tearing sensations at the muscles wherever they struck. Yet Fenris continued to push down his discomfort, lunging in once more as his body twisted and flexed in what Hawke had once told him was his particular "dance." It was slower than hers, she had explained to him one drunken night, but powerful and graceful in its own right.

And now he danced for her; his blade cleaved billowing rifts through the air, shattering conjured stone and deflecting flames and razor-edged shards of ice in its wake as they were hurled at him without pause. Again and again magical energies of all elemental natures answered the mage’s whim, and while some made contact with their intended target many were rendered impotent as Fenris moved across their limited battlefield; shoulders flexing and sword arcing around his person faster than most could wield something half its size. The mage's pale lips drew into a tight, grim line; whatever advantage he had previously thought to have held was now clearly evading him.

Yet there was something that gave Fenris reason to hold his confidence in check, and that was the absolute silence the mage had adapted. Although the apostate wielded his staff with all of the flourish and ostentation he had ever displayed, no words poured from him in this fight. Through the years Fenris had fought in his company, and even during their recent trip through the Deep Roads, the man had never ceased in his tireless strain of taunts and insults. Yet now there was nothing - not even the self-righteous promises the abomination had so frequently enjoyed carrying out. Fenris could not tell if this was a sign of fear or merely the results of the man’s clearly unbalanced state. Either way, it was warning enough to watch his opponent, and to take nothing for granted.

At last growing tired of being forced into a defensive stance, the warrior chose his moment to change the tide of the battle and leapt for the momentum to thrust his blade to the barren ground, summoning violent tremors which tore rocks from the face of the mountain and set the mage reeling; debris battering the apostate and sending him sprawling to the ground. Fenris lunged again, this time aiming for the robed chest, yet only tearing a bloody line along Anders' back as the reeling man threw himself to one side. The cry of pain was the only response received, and Fenris sneered.

"Where are your threats now, Anders," the name poured from his tongue like an vulgarity, “or those crude insults and boastful claims you were always so fond of?"

The mage snarled as he lunged to his feet, and hatred lit up his eyes as brightly as the demon inhabiting him ever had. "Shut up and fight."

"Where is she?!" Fenris demanded, and rage rendered the soft face before him nearly unrecognizable as blue light traced his features and obscured his eyes for a moment. But that moment was long enough.

 _"Enough!"_ Something ethereal and sinister harmonized with the words in that way that lifted the warrior’s hackles, and blue light erupted in all directions, dousing Fenris' awareness until a jarring impact against his shoulder and head drove a spike of pain down his arm and spine; his body screaming in agony that had him nearly curling in upon himself while power continued to pulse over him. Opening his markings to accept the magic assaulting him, Fenris roared as the tattoos decorating his body flared and shrieked with energies that went beyond what they had ever before taken in. More than having power drawn from him, this attack he could not stave off burned acrid trails down to his very bones, and a howl ripped from his chest as he forgot himself; forgot to show no sign of weakness on the battlefield.

Convulsing on the ground until the lyrium sewn into his body had drank the spell dry, Fenris forced himself to roll over, to move - even slowly - the moment the spell died off and released its grip on his body and senses. Free at last of the mage’s fury his limbs tingled as magic arced over his skin like tiny bolts of lightening, causing him to tremble slightly as the residual effects died away, and without conscious thought he charged once more; teeth bared as he snarled viciously at the man who had summoned a demon’s aid against him. Without regard for his personal safety Fenris spun on the balls of his feet, his massive blade swinging around him until he resembled a miniature yet deadly whirlwind - one that carried itself on a fixed path.

The mage’s arms swung out and stone enveloped him in a protective armoring, only to crumble in places at the first and second blows of Fenris’ sword - the following strikes carving great slivers of wood from his staff and cleaving deep into the apostate’s shoulder and chest.

A scream - shrill and hoarse - told Fenris that his quarry’s wounds were more than superficial, and he recognized his opportunity, his body coiling, ready for the final strike-

-yet his feet remained rooted. Growling Fenris willed himself to step forward again, but still his legs refused to obey. The blood soaked hand before him shimmered and quaked as the mage channeled his energies into paralyzing Fenris, dropping his staff against his ruined chest so that he could reach into his pouch and retrieve a glass vial filled with that familiar noxious red liquid Fenris himself had relied on so many times before. The contents were poured down the apostate’s throat and the warrior’s growl grew in aggression as he realized his victory had been snatched from him. Anders took hold of his weapon once more and flexed his fingers as the energies sliding over his fingers dimmed.

And with that small gesture the warrior’s agitation stilled; a thought coming to him that nearly undid his frustration: Anders had nearly exhausted his supply of lyrium potions while in the Deep Roads. The mage’s own inane habit of unpacking and repacking his supplies at every rest point had shown Fenris this on several occasions. It had also been one reason drawing from Fenris’ markings had been necessary to save Hawke’s life. Anders had not had enough potions on the way in to repair such extensive injuries. Had he not consumed any of his stock on the journey in, he still would have failed.

The elf quickly pulled to mind their last night in the Deep Roads, and the image of the mage indulging in his ritual. If he had not used any since Fenris had last witnessed the act, the man had no more than two lyrium potions left.

And Fenris was willing to wager that there were even fewer of those red draughts remaining. Hawke had drained hers entirely - Anders would have found nothing in her bag beyond the contents of the blood mage's research.

His insides lit with anticipation and he waited; poised against his unseen bindings for the moment when the mage's hold upon him slipped. His wait was not long; Anders' face rapidly split in a desperate grimace and he swung his staff around his shoulders as he labored to pull forth a spell from his taxed reserves. Instantly Fenris knew the jarring pain of stone battering his body and hurtling him into the air while at the same moment discovering the return of his physical faculties and twisted himself in mid-flight; his feet and unoccupied hand striking the ground and scraping across stone as he slid into his landing. The face before him slackened in shock and worry, yet the warrior allowed his enemy no time to prepare. Hurling back into the fray, his sword swung out to deflect the smaller non-elemental attacks as Anders stumbled back, fumbling a hand within his pouch blindly, and all without tearing his eyes from the man rushing towards him.

Another glass vial emerged from the apostate's satchel and Fenris realized with a disorientating sense of dread that he had miscalculated; acrid green liquid and smoke overpowering him as the glass container Anders had produced shattered against his chest plate. Fenris dropped to one knee, gagging and choking on the mixture he knew to be one of Hawke's particular concoctions - he had forgotten those in his estimation of the resources available to the mage. After all of these years the odor was unmistakable to him, even amplified as it was now that it coated his neck and chest. His vision tunneled as he fought for breathable air, the sickening ache in his muscles telling him that the poison had leeched into his skin. He felt hung-over - worse. His stomach roiled as he fought to keep from heaving its contents out onto the dirt before him. Tears brought forth by the vapors blurred his vision further; the poison capitalizing on his body’s natural reaction and exacerbated the sting, just as Hawke had intended.

Yet the abomination was not fairing well either, Fenris gathered absently. The man clearly had not the resistance Hawke had built to the liquid, and Fenris could hear him coughing wetly a few paces away. A distance fighter; the mage likely had even less resistance to the poison than he.

The warrior struggled to stand, pushing himself upright while using his sword as an ailing man might use a walking stick, when pain exploded from his shoulder, burning him with its icy intensity and bringing forth a startled grunt from the man who was still having difficulty filling his lungs. Fenris' fogged eyes blinked and he labored to take in the sight of a shard of ice jutting out from just above his chest plate. With great effort he rose to his own legs; his body responding sluggishly. He would have to commend Hawke for creating such an effective weapon.

_If..._

The elf's teeth bared and he reached up to wrap a hand around the physical embodiment of the spell, hot blood mixing with the frigid water dripping down his side and thigh as he wrenched the ice shard from his body angrily. One gauntleted hand pressed over the wound, knowing that a healing draught would be wasted if he took it before the poison wore off.

The apostate before him eyed him sternly and lifted a hand already shimmering with another unreleased spell-

-and wood and blood erupted from his palm; the ledge around them erupting in piercing screams. The spell the mage had been ready to cast now lurched up his own arm with a violent and unpredicted release, causing its master to double over himself as he clutched at the fouled appendage. Brown eyes lifted in astonishment to Fenris' and then the man was screaming again; his body arching and twisting in agony, revealing an arrow jutting out from his lower back as he staggered around to face his newest attacker.

Green and brown eyes lifted as though pulled by strings, and in that moment Fenris' physical misery was nearly lost to him. For there she was, standing in all of her outraged glory atop the debris the mage had first attempted to topple over him; the bow still tight in her grip as she nocked another arrow and drew. The abomination whispered something, yet Fenris paid it no thought. Words would not save him now. Hawke's expression was one he knew well, one that promised death with no compromise.

From her perch upon the rocks Hawke released the arrow into Anders' chest, reaching back for another even as the current shaft flew through the air; her teeth bared in visible hostility. And Fenris watched as she drew back on the bowstring again before releasing her fourth arrow, this shaft finding its target in the mage's throat.

The warrior looked on as the man who he had longed to kill for years was cut down before him, and at the hands of the one person in Thedas with the right to do so. Black feathers and unbound blonde hair nearly obscured the pale face beneath when the body at last settled on the ground, but the pool of blood slowly growing beneath the still form of the abomination said enough.

Blue eyes then slid over to find his as Hawke at last lowered the bow to her side.

"I think I'm getting better at this," she said, tipping the weapon in her hand slightly and reaching into the strange belt pouch at her hip. From it she produced a healing potion, and lightly tossed the vial down to him.

Then his lover was dropping heavily to her rear; her arms rising to rest across her knees as she stared at the body of the man she had once held such affection for. As had been the case with her mother, there were no tears. Nothing but the crushing silence of a woman who had known too much death and was now tired of grieving.

Free at last of the effects of the poison, Fenris drank the contents of the small glass bottle she had given him and pulled himself onto the debris as well, feeling the wound in his shoulder pull painfully in spite of the itch that told him it was knitting together. Once on the rocks he turned to sit at her side; stretching one leg out before himself. He could not understand how any shred of her could mourn the creature she had just slain, but he could at least respect the fact that such a part of her existed. She had done what was necessary in spite of any desire to the contrary, and he would give her whatever time she needed to come to terms with it.

"I am here." He said simply. For a moment there was nothing from the woman at his side. Then a hand - cool and soft - reached across her body to rest on his bare arm gently, sending tiny shards of pain and pleasure across his skin that he could now appreciate, as he craved her touch like nothing else.

Her voice lifted softly; but without the grief he had expected.

"I know."

  
XXXX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've heard this story reacted to both ways. Some love this story, and have been rooting for Anders' death. Others slowly started to withdraw from my fic because of the turn it was taking away from their favorite mage. Either way, I hope that I wrote this story well enough, and canon enough, that it evoked real emotional reactions from my readers.
> 
> Just please don't throw things at your computers/devices. You can dislike the story if you must, but your poor piece of electronics had nothing to do with it. ;)
> 
> I hope you come back. We're not quite done yet. ;)


	17. The End Becomes the Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their mission nearly complete, and their safety finally secured, it seems almost too much to hope for that Hawke and her lover may be able to at last find some peace. Yet just as Hawke is ready to be quit of her dealings with the Grey Wardens, she learns that the reason she thought she had risked so much in this quest may not have been the real reason at all...

**ACT SEVENTEEN:  THE END BECOMES THE BEGINNING**

 

The hand bearing the letter finally dropped back to his side and he sighed heavily.  It may have been the first time that he had breathed in days; he wasn't exactly sure, and he’d kept going back to the letter since it arrived this morning, reading it again and again even after penning his own response, just to make sure he _could_ breathe.  The thick fingers of his unoccupied hand lifted to slide over his jaw, scraping feeling back into his skin and pulling his mind back to the here-and-now.  

It was finally over.  Well, _that_ part was, at least.  They were safe.

Before him, his unexpected benefactor quirked an eyebrow when he failed to say anything immediately.  "Satisfied?"  Her voice was light, if slightly teasing, but he let it go.  After the ride his nerves had taken over the past few days Varric wasn't sure he was going to have the energy to get out of his chair to take a piss, much less rise to the spymaster's bait.

"Yeah," he muttered, glancing down at the message he still held to; the words on the paper now almost completely concealed behind sharp folds and leather gloves.  Carefully he loosened his grip; he’d probably want to read it a few more times still.  "Thanks.  Does anyone else know?"  Lovely porcelain features twisted as Leliana scowled at him, though not dangerously, thank the Maker.  

"Don't be absurd," she scoffed.  "I gave my word, did I not?"

Varric could only bring himself to shrug at her insincere offense.  "Sorry," he mumbled without putting any effort into sounding like he meant it.  "Force of habit.  My usual contacts require a double check on that count.  Keeping secrets costs extra with them."  Both the Merchants Guild and the Carta had proven they were willing to sell information to the highest bidder unless they had already been paid to keep quiet.  It was a risk you took when doing business with them, but Varric was skilled enough by now to know exactly when it was going to be necessary to flash some more gold.  And while he was sure that coin wouldn't drive the Inquisitor's advisor to sell out Hawke, he hoped that political gain for her cause wouldn't prove to be enough motivation.  She wasn't the type to betray an ally, he felt, but she also wasn't someone Varric dared assume he could predict.

For now he could only take her at her word.

The hand at his side lifted in a vague gesture at nothing in particular.  "So, what happens now?"

Letting go of her false indignation, the bard's face tipped up to the sky beyond the rookery, watching her bird shrink into the distant horizon; a tiny scroll bearing a new message fixed to its thin leg.  "Once Hawke delivers the components to the Warden Commander," she said; her voice lower than it had been moments ago, "it will be over.  My agents will see that your message is delivered to Hawke and that will be the end of it."

Varric scowled, or as much as he dared to scowl at the Nightingale.  There was only so far he was willing to push her.  She still scared the shit out of him, after all.  "And Sunshine - Hawke's sister?  She was part of the deal."

At this the spymaster shook her head uncertainly.  "Yes, I know.  But I'm afraid that without an actual cure nothing can be done at the moment.  Still, the Warden Commander has assured me that she understands the fault lies entirely with her people.  If the cure can be recreated, the Champion's sibling will be among the first to receive it.  From there her life is her own.  No Circle; no Inquisition."

"And no more looking for Hawke," Varric concluded pointedly.  "No more tracking her down for this cause or that.  You pull your people following her and you let her go.  She's got to be able to build a new life for herself.  Especially now."

Hawke.  A mother.  The idea was still about as outrageous as any story he had ever concocted.  He couldn't picture it.  Not that madwoman he knew from Kirkwall with the knife-edge tongue and an unnatural ability to attract trouble.  And Broody as the father?  The thought of that one bouncing a baby on his knee and cooing would have brought Varric to fits of laughter if he wasn't so damned drained after worrying about what Blondie had done with his friend.

Andraste's tits, Varric had seriously considered abandoning the Inquisition to go and look for her personally.  In spite of Corypheus, the red lyrium, and the whole world going to shit around them, this was still Hawke.  They'd been through too much for him to turn his back on her.  And he knew that if pressed, his loyalty to Hawke would win out against the Inquisition.  It was the main reason he’d asked the Nightingale to keep the entire thing a secret - even from the Inquisitor.  Not that he’d tell her that.

Above his head Leliana's face split into a small, conspiratorial smile.  "I will even help to bury her tracks if you wish."

Varric's own lips crimped into a smirk. "Thanks, but Hawke and I did well enough on our own before."  He took a certain pride in that.  The spymaster was damned good at what she did, and still Varric had kept Hawke out of sight of the woman and her agents for two years.  Not a small accomplishment in his book.  And call him crazy, but trusting a woman like the Nightingale with unrestricted access to Hawke's location seemed as good an idea as letting her and the Seeker name his friend Inquisitor in the first place.  Hawke may be able to get results, but she couldn't play political games for shit.

Still, better to keep that thought to himself, Varric decided, and instead simply added, "I think we can manage it again."

At this admission, the spymaster actually chuckled.  “I don’t doubt it, Varric."

 

 

XXXX

 

The rising column of smoke, twining up through the pink and gold hues of the distant morning sky, had consumed her attention completely, leaving her ignorant of her three remaining companions - the Grey Wardens and Fenris, once Nelan had left to return to his clan - while they worked to dismantle the small encampment.  After nearly a full day Anders' pyre still smoldered from the grounds where the mage had made his last stand.  The effort to build such a tribute had taken hours of labor from the remaining travel party, and had likely cost Oghren a superior and undoubtedly expensive war axe in the process, but at Hawke's insistence, and with the scrub trees they had harvested from the valley below the battleground, they committed Anders' body to the flame.

Her final goodbye to a man she had once held dearer than her own life.

And now, after everything that had occurred and their hasty departure from Anders final resting place the day before, she was tired in a way that went beyond simple physical exhaustion, and yet strangely calm.  With the deaths of her mother and Carver, and even the destruction of the Chantry, there had been anger, guilt, and a nearly debilitating grief that had lingered longer with each tragedy; burdens she had successfully hidden behind a glib tongue or a firm resolve for year after year.  Yet now her thoughts were clear and quiet; unsettled only by the intense desire to crawl beneath a thick blanket and simply lay there for days.  Not out of misery, but a fatigue that she felt as much in her mind as her limbs and back.

Not even when a figure appeared at her side, platinum hair glinting gold in the light of the sunrise, did she tear her eyes from the wisps of smoke emanating from the other side of the mountaintop.  She didn't have to see him to know that he was watching her, yet she couldn't bring herself to be curious of the expression that he wore, and without thinking on the words she was about to set loose, Hawke simply started to speak into the empty space before her.

"'I knew it would be you,'" she said softly.  "Those were his last words.  Do you think he realized I would be the one to kill him after we fled Kirkwall?  Or maybe he knew it before, and that was why he first began to distance himself from me."

"What matter is it what he thought?"  Fenris growled, though not with any hostility.  "What's done is done.  He earned the death that claimed him, and you will never have to fear being ensnared by him again."

She let those truths echo in her mind for a time before speaking again with even less consideration of what she was saying than before.  "Do you have the same feeling, Fenris?"  She asked, unaware of the eyes that startled briefly as they watched her.  "Will I be what kills you, too?"

Without a word of warning hard fingers caught up her arms, pressing into her flesh as he turned her to face him.  "You gave me your word, Hawke," his voice rumbled from deep within his chest, and at last a flicker of electric emotion plucked at her veins, brought out by the expression in those beautiful dark features.  Her lover's jaw bulged, his eyes flashed, and yet there was still something soft buried in those pale green depths.  "Do not let the mage undo you again."

It was these subtle insights into the fierce man's heart that could quicken her blood, even when she thought it wasn't possible, and she found herself actually smiling at him, wondering briefly if she might be going mad after all.

"The Anders I cared for died in Kirkwall," she said quietly, "years ago, when the Chantry was destroyed.  What I killed yesterday was nothing more than a shadow of him."  It wasn't until she spoke the words that she understood why she wasn't mourning Anders; and it was not because she was losing her sanity.  She had already grieved at the loss of her former friend and lover.  She had grieved for him for years, in fact.

The fingers circling her arms loosened abruptly, and after a moment one hand lifted to cradle her cheek as he gazed at her fondly, though without that small smile that often accompanied the gesture.  The touch was warm against the cool mountain air, and Hawke leaned into his palm gratefully, inhaling the scent of metal and oil and the musky, earthy tang of his skin.  

"They still haunt me," she admitted at last, her eyes closed as she breathed him in again, "Carver, and my mother, and even Bethany.  Even after all these years I close my eyes and I still see their faces, just as I last saw them.  And Anders as well; smiling at me like he did before he changed.  Then last night came the dreams of blood and his last words... and then you."  She shook her head, unable to quell the shudder that wracked her spine.  "Blood streaked down your face and you were dying... the knife in my hands..."

The hot skin that had been cupped to her cheek lovingly now framed her jaw, compelling her to open her eyes and look at him; to see the resolve - but not anger - that filled his features so completely.  "I fear no such death," he said quietly.  "Nor should you.  I have made my choice, and it is to remain at your side.  That vow does not extend only to my physical presence.  Trust in me, Hawke, as I have trusted in you."

The former Champion nodded once and then hummed contentedly when his fingers shifted to comb through her hair.  She felt better; more like herself.  She couldn't remember the last time she felt this way.

And while it was true that Fenris had been supporting her through her struggles after fleeing Kirkwall, in the end only Hawke could have freed herself from the weight pressing down on her.  Only she could sever her chains to her past, and give herself the possibility of a future.  She recalled how Fenris had felt uncertainty after defeating Danarius.  But for her, now unshackled by the weight of constant guilt, Hawke only felt free.

Fenris had once said to her that death was but a journey.  Perhaps it was as much her journey as the dead's.  She still didn't know where it lead, but it didn't trouble her as it once had.  

In spite of her shift in mindset, the press of fatigue still gripped at her firmly.  They had endured so much these past few days - weeks, even.  She was ready for a rest.

"I'm tired, Fenris," she sighed, "let's hurry and finish things with the Warden Commander.  I want to go home."

Hands slipped from her face and arm down to her waist, pulling her closer.  "Do you know where that is yet?"

Hawke smiled, a more sincere expression that apparently pleased her lover.  "I'm working on that.  Tell me, have you thought of a name yet?"

Full lips cocked into that smirk that she so adored, and his brow tipped in towards hers.  "I'm working on that."  He murmured.

 

XXXX

 

The inn their Grey Warden companions led them to was far smaller than their prior meeting place with the Hero of Ferelden; with only two small rooms for rent, it was little more than a waypoint on the Imperial Highway.  Yet Hawke wasn't concerned with any of that.  Had Fenris not insisted on a proper night's rest for her, she would have been content to leave the second the Warden Commander had what she wanted.  Her sympathies to the Grey Wardens had been stretched thin since before they had entered the Fade.  Now, after nearly finding herself the latest sacrifice in the Order's ongoing attempts to free its members of the inevitability of the Calling, Hawke was ready to be done with them permanently; her travel companions included.  Sleeping in a tent for another few nights would have suited her perfectly well if it meant breaking away from the Wardens once and for all.

Yet Fenris had been unyielding in his decision, and in the end had purchased one of the rooms at the back of the building for the night, allowing the dwarf and stable boy to worry about their own accommodations.  With no consideration to their lack of privacy, he had then announced that she could either retire to the room willingly or be bound to the bed.  Once the threat would have raised a brow and a smirk to Hawke's features, and have earned her lover a few choice words that would have undoubtedly rendered the man a stuttering, giggling fool.  Now, though, she found herself in such a state that the moment they had entered their small room Hawke had only needed to glance at the over-stuffed mattress before falling out on top of the shabby wool coverlet; travel garb and all.

It was not until a knock at the door roused her did she realize how grateful she was to Fenris for his foresight, as well as his attention to her comforts.  A blanket had been draped over her as she had slept, and her boots and armor had been stripped from her person; all of which had been cleaned, oiled, and set neatly aside against a wall.  Clearly she must have slept for hours; he may care little for housekeeping, but Fenris tended to the gear which kept them alive in battle meticulously.

The knock repeated, drawing her further into consciousness, and a shadow beside the fireplace stood; green eyes meeting hers briefly.  With a pointed look to her lover Hawke stood and approached the door, running hurried fingers through her tousled black strands as she moved.  She regretted her current appearance - shoeless and rumpled - yet there was no time to remedy any of that.  When the door opened at last Valeria entered; her own travel clothes dust-covered and equally creased.  None would have ever mistaken this woman as the Hero of Ferelden, which Hawke was certain was the reason behind the facade.

"Forgive me," the former Champion said by way of a formal greeting, "It would seem that I slept longer than I had intended."  A red braid bounced lightly against the Grey Warden's back as she shook her head.

"No apologies necessary.  I heard what happened," she admitted, her face buckling slightly, "I want you to know that I never sent him.  Had I known he-"

"Oghren told me," Hawke assured the woman.  "And Anders himself admitted as much.  He said that he had followed me on his own.  I left him alone and that mistake came back to haunt me.  In the end he was my problem to deal with."

"He very well may have been mine," Valeria contested, "I conscripted Anders into the Wardens.  Because of that he eventually became bound to Justice.  But..." she sighed, leaning against the small table against the wall; her hands folded before her, "claiming responsibility now is useless.  What's done is done, and there is no changing any of it.  And as it stands we’re on borrowed time now.  Those trying to stop me are close, and my diversion allowing me to come here won't last long.  Tell me, how do you feel?"

Hawke's gaze narrowed as she found herself wondering exactly what the woman had heard.  Had the Warden Commander visited her subordinates in the next room first?  After announcing her intent to hurry through their meeting, Hawke couldn't imagine the queen would then choose to slip into idle conversation so quickly.  "Fine," Hawke admitted slowly, reluctant to give away more than necessary just yet, "and you?"

"I still hear it; the Calling," Valeria admitted, another slight cringe marring her features.  "Do you?"

Presumably she'd heard everything then, the darker woman gathered.  Deciding there was little point in playing coy any longer, Hawke's head shook.  "Was that what the whispers were?  I don't hear them anymore, if that was your question."

Valeria sighed, her eyes sparkling brightly and lips pressing into a thin line.  "Then it worked," she breathed, "Maker be praised.  It _is_ possible."

"Possible, yes, but your man never gave me the formula," Hawke pointed out with some resentment, her arms crossing before her breast as she apprised the woman before her.  "He only told me to instruct you to take back your Joining.  What that means is beyond me."  With quick steps she retrieved her pack, pulling vial after vial from the back and setting them carefully onto the table beside the Grey Warden's leg, before placing one that was all but empty into the Commander's hand directly.  "This is the cure," she announced with a gesture, watching as Valeria held the vial up to the light, swirling the residue against the inside of the glass.  "And all of this is what he used in its creation.  There isn't much left but-"

Green eyes snapped wide as the Ferelden queen gazed at the substance within, her face an odd mixture of outrage and excitement.  "Our Joining?  We take it back, you said?"

Hawke scowled.  "Yes.  Do you know what that means?"

"I may," Valeria admitted from between clenched teeth.  "And if my suspicions are correct, Avernus had the cure years ago and never told me.  Why would he not tell me?"  Her chin dipped for a heartbeat, eyes pressed tightly close, before she lifted her face once more and met Hawke's eyes.  "No.  It doesn't matter.  None of that can matter anymore.  It _worked_."  

Pale features lifted before Hawke and Valeria's eyes took on the appearance of desperation.  "You have no reason to trust me, but I must ask; would you grant me a vial of your blood?"

From behind Hawke's shoulder Fenris' growl was a threatening as a trained mabari preparing for the kill as he began to spit heated curses from between his teeth; raging against the ever-present threat of blood magic and the Grey Warden's tolerance of the practice.

They might as well have been standing in Kirkwall, Hawke decided darkly.  It had been this way for years now.  It was never enough that she had helped; those who came to her always wanted more at the end.  It didn't matter that Valeria's quest had nearly cost her everything once already.  This woman would keep asking; would keep pressing.  

And as effortlessly as though she had never stopped playing, Hawke opened her mouth and spoke. 

"What Fenris is trying to say," she broke in smoothly - almost flippantly - the words rolling off of her tongue as easily as they ever had, "is that this is sounding quite similar to a conversation Avernus and I had.  A Grey Warden confirms the cure works, I'm identified as the proof of that, a sampling of my blood is requested, and I'm told my blood could end all Blights.  Then before you know it I end up having to fight a swarm of Grey Wardens, killing the people who make all the decisions and ruining yet another perfectly good pair of boots with bloodstains in the process."

Before her the Warden Commander's features crumpled into a puzzled frown, while Fenris' angry litany completely died out.  "Tell me, Commander," the former Champion went on, "is this to be a common occurrence between your Order and me?  Or is this sort of exchange reserved only for special occasions? If so, my approaching journey into motherhood has already been celebrated, and my birthday is still several months off."

"I give you my word, that is anything but my intent," Valeria replied, making an obvious effort to compose herself in spite of Hawke's spectacle.  "Though that does explain why Avernus withheld the cure from me.  He was working on more than just a cure.  I knew I should have had him watched more closely!  Still... if I'm right, I believe I know what he was eluding to."  Her voice trailed off as she stared down at the vial still clutched in her fingers.  "Replacing the darkspawn blood with that of a person who has been cured may be the answer... we don't take _back_ our Joining... we take it _again_..."  

"More blood rites."  Fenris sneered from his place behind Hawke.  "Why am I not surprised."

One strawberry brow arched somewhat arrogantly and Valeria's gaze snapped up towards Fenris.  "In a manner of speaking, yes.  But not wholly magic.  It's most comparable to potion making.  Despite what you may think, I am not an avid supporter of blood magic.  I took no joy in allowing his research to proceed.  Nor in hiding it from my husband."  Now it was Hawke's turn to cast a scornful gaze at the woman before her.  The thought of hiding something so vital to their shared life from a man who had every right to know...  It would seem Valeria had more in common with her fallen conscript than Hawke had first assumed.

"You've already brought the other components," the Grey Warden continued airily as her eyes trailed down to the small horde of vials and bottles atop the table.  "My people can puzzle the details out with this.  But you, Hawke, are the only person who has been cured.  Your blood would start the chain reaction.  If one who is willing to support the cause takes the cure next, your involvement will become obsolete."

"Obsolete," the voice that could liquify Hawke's insides was now directly behind her shoulder, and threatened to burn her ears with the heat of his rage, "yes of course.  Until you decide that your blood mage was right; that Hawke's blood is the key to ending all Blights.  That sacrifices, even the unwilling, are necessary.  That even more blood magic is the answer.  Your kind always come to that in the end."

Hawke's gaze on the Commander was cool and calculating, until the woman leveled a knowing look on the former Champion, and she found herself waiting for the Grey Warden to unleash a barbed retort of her own.  What came instead, however, caught Hawke entirely off guard.  

"You have been given a gift that until now has been out of reach to me," Valeria whispered, "I would not rob you of that now.  Not when you are the reason that I may someday also be allowed such a gift.  To do so would be unforgivable..."

"Only now do you concern yourself with what might be unforgivable.  Convenient."  Fenris spat the words at their visitor, yet Hawke did not join him in his ire.  Instead she watched the woman for another moment before pulling herself from her thoughts.

"Fenris," she murmured over her shoulder softly, rolling up a sleeve without taking her eyes from Valeria, "would you do the honors?"  Her chin dipped to the nearly emptied pack.  "There is a fresh bottle in my pack, large enough to hold a healing potion.  I'll need that."

Heat and that overwhelming scent of clean earth and metal were beside her, and Hawke turned towards the man now watching her intently.  "I can't do it myself," she murmured, "I've retired my daggers, remember."

"Hawke," Fenris growled, his eyes hard and dark brows furrowed dangerously, "you don't have to do this."

"You're right," she replied, "I don't.  But if what she says is true, my blood is a component of the cure.  A cure I promised to bring Valeria.  I believe what she says about the process used to produce the cure.  Hate him all you like, but you and I both know that Anders never would have participated all of those years ago had blood magic been involved.  And I've brewed poisons before.  It doesn't require a mage's talents to make a potion."  Her lover made no move to assist and Hawke tilted her face into his intimately.  "Alright," she breathed, "you tell me, Fenris.  Tell me that all that we went through was for nothing, and I'll end our dealings with her here and now.  It's your call."

Fierce pale eyes flicked to the woman standing before them, yet Hawke made no effort to look at her; her focus entirely on the man at her side.  With a scowl that spoke more of irritation than hatred those same eyes dropped as metal-clad hands lifted her arm and, with one pointed fingertip, Fenris carefully pierced her skin.  Blood began to trickle down her arm and eyes the color of springtime lifted to meet a feminine gaze that sparked like a Fade rift.

"The vial."  Her lover's demand was harsh, if quiet, and from the corner of her eyes Hawke watched Valeria's chest lift raggedly as she silently complied.  It took several minutes to fill the bottle completely, and all the while the sting of metal in her arm kept the trickle from stopping.  When the bottle was finally full, Hawke pushed the stopper in place and handed the container off to the Grey Warden.  

"That is the last of my blood that will be shed for this cause," she announced.  "We're done here.  If a Grey Warden finds their way to my door again, they'll meet the same end as Avernus and Anders."  Her head tilted slightly towards the woman before her.  "And if I hear at any time that people are being sacrificed unwillingly to your cause, I will tear your Order down around your ears.  Blight or no.  The world doesn't need more soldiers bent on putting their own designs above those they should be protecting."  She waited, expecting a heated reply; one of equal defensive posturing.  

Instead the door beyond the Grey Warden's back opened with a flourish, revealing a dark, familiar face; thin, tattooed on one side, and framed with golden hair partially pulled back behind his head.  Isabela's friend, if Hawke recalled correctly.  What was his name...?

"Regrettably, the time for pleasantries has come to an end," the man admitted with a heavy Antivian accent and a brilliant smile; both directed at the Warden Commander.  "While I do not fear the fight that comes for us, alas, that is not my choice to make."

Strawberry locks bobbed as the woman nodded.  "Thank you, Zevran."

"Zevran," Hawke said aloud, her silent question answered.  "I remember you.  I had no idea you knew the Warden Commander, too."

The Antivian winked at her with a sly grin.  "I know a great many people, Champion," he purred.  "And I continue to regret that I was not able to become better acquainted with you during our last meeting."

"You can get used to that regret," Fenris growled, "you won't be freeing yourself of it."  The blonde man blinked at Hawke's lover.

"Oh-ho!  So it is you now, is it?"  Zevran's smile turned to Hawke once more.  "It seems that fate intends to keep us apart, my dear Champion.  Ah well.  Perhaps it is all for the best?"  The smile then redirected to the Grey Warden, as though he hadn't a care in the world.  "We should be off, my friend.  Your fellow Wardens are not far behind."

"Of course," Valeria nodded, and turned back to Hawke.  "Though before I go, I must point out to you that your association with Grey Wardens is not yet over.  More specifically, a former Grey Warden," she clarified when Hawke's features darkened into a scowl.  "I made a promise, you see.  It was part of the terms my contact relayed to me before they located you.  And, like you, I do not go back on my word.  

"I will find Bethany and see that she is cured."  The woman announced, and Hawke's irritation vanished at the mention of her sister's name.  Though her sibling had been at the fore of Hawke's reasoning for her actions, the former Champion had never actually spoken of Bethany to the Commander.  There had been no reason at that point.  "I will find her, and when she has been cured I will send her to the person who directed me to you."  The Ferelden queen went on.  "They are Inquisition, not of my Order.  They will ensure Bethany is reunited with you."

Hawke's heart froze within her chest.  Varric.  Varric was somehow involved in this.  It couldn't be anyone else.  Had her friend directed the Warden Commander to Hawke?  Had this been his intent all along?  To help her reclaim the last family she had beyond Gamlin?  

She would have to send him a message after this meeting, she decided.  She had to know.  To thank him.  To be certain that she could allow herself to hope.

"Thank you."  It seemed insufficient in comparison to the feeling that overwhelmed her at the thought of seeing her sister again, but Hawke could not allow herself to appear indebted to the Grey Warden.  Not now, when she was fighting so hard to be free of the plans of others.

"I think it is I who should be thanking you," the pale woman replied, gathering up the various containers Hawke had laid out for her into her own small pack.  "Before you I had no idea if or when I would ever be able to retrieve the cure.  Now, because of you, I am closer to being able to rejoin my husband than I have been in years.  And now, if you'll excuse me, I should go before you are discovered with me.  You've earned your retirement and I won't rob you of that."

Idle curiosity drove Hawke to speak out once more.  "You will be returning to Denirim then, I take it?"

A sad smile crossed the woman's face as she turned back to face Hawke once more, and she suddenly seemed even less like the imposing Hero of Ferelden Hawke had first dreamed up.  She appeared lonely, lost, and most certainly not the staunch warrior or indifferent supporter of the evils of blood magic.

"Someday," Valeria replied softly.  "But not just yet.  There is still much to do."  Valeria gave a formal bow, one that a queen would normally not bestow someone of lesser rank.  "I know that you've been given a less than ideal impression of the Grey Warden Order by so many of us.  I want you to understand that not everyone is as willing to tread that line of morale ambiguity.  My husband, for example, is a good man, and a hero within our ranks.  He would never have condoned what I have allowed to take place.  That is why I had to leave him behind.  Please remember this before you cast judgment on us all."

"Yes, yes, that is all very good," Zevran announced hurriedly, for the first time showing that perhaps the fight he claimed not to fear might actually trouble him, "but truly now, we must be going.  Champion," he said formally, extending his hand towards her, as a gentleman would ask a lady for her hand to kiss, "it has been an honor."

Hawke reached out, gingerly placing her hand within his, when a small slip of curled paper passed from between his fingers into hers; unfurling slightly in the act.  The blonde gave her a final wink and smile as he closed her fingers around the paper before releasing his hold on her; turning to follow his friend from the room.

And then, as abruptly as they have arrived, Zevran and Valeria were gone.

 

XXXX

 

Hawke was silent for a moment; watching the door incredulously before turning back to Fenris.  "It's over," she breathed.

One dark brow arched in speculation above his crystalline gaze, and he peered down pointedly at her hand.  "Is it?"  

Uncurling her fingers, Hawke was at last able to examine the small slip of paper in her palm; recognizing the way the ends had been folded to prevent the missive from opening even if dropped… or being opened by someone else first without her knowledge.

Her breath caught.  "It's from Varric," she breathed.  She had been right!  Eagerly she began peeling back the careful folds, mindful not to rip the paper as she opened the letter to find a single sheet only slightly larger than her hand and bearing the author’s perfect penmanship; shrunk small enough that she had little doubt his hand had cramped while writing.

"How does that man expect me to read this," she muttered, walking the note over to a lamp so that she could squint at the lettering in better light.

' _It will never ceases to boggle the mind how you can take a bad situation and make it infinitely worse,'_   the letter began, and Hawke found herself grinning at the greeting that only her friend would give.  _'Not that I'm blaming you for Blondie. Still, you scared the shit out of me, Hawke.  I think it's time you settled down, for both our sakes.  And I've got just the ticket for that.'_

Hawke's eyes continued to skim over the words on the paper, and as they did the smile on her face lost its playful quality and became more sincere.

If the contents of this letter weren't so appealing, she'd have journeyed back to Skyhold to hug that dwarf again.  Instead she lifted bright blue eyes to Fenris; her smile dimpling her cheeks happily.

"You may want to start seriously considering that name, Fenris," she quipped, "we're going home."

 

XXXX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH. MY. GOD! I came back!! That felt like forever! I'm so, so sorry to those of you who waited so long, and I thank you for coming back to read more. <3 My brain was overloaded with real world challenges that sort of smothered my muse for a while. I knew the plot line, but finding the right way to put it all into words that wouldn't come out sounding like "see Hawke quit. Quit Hawke, quit." was next to impossible for me for a while.
> 
> And the addition of our favorite Antivian at the end was literally something I decided to add yesterday. Like, for real, yesterday. I would have posted yesterday, but I wanted to do a quick dialect check to make sure I got him right. :)
> 
> Anyway, we're not quite done yet. I think one more chapter... 
> 
> Thanks for coming back!


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